


Gone South

by bigcatsandkatanas



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, a bunch of other twd characters tba as well, alex/jesus stuff going on too, some problematic stuff is said as well, some vague sex stuff, this is a romance but an action movie parody too bc why not, zombie free and squeaky clean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7036630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigcatsandkatanas/pseuds/bigcatsandkatanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of being a pawn to his brother's destructive nature, Daryl sets out to live a life free of crime. But things never come easy. When each day is a battle, how can he fight off the inevitable? A phone call, a duffel bag and a mysterious man named Jesus bring him anything but peace. One thing eventually comes into light, you're never sure where love will find you, and often times it's in the strangest of places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A friend of a friend of a friend...

**Author's Note:**

> Hey first things first, sorry for typos or anything that seems weird. I always give these a reread when my brain is a little less cluttered. Want to clarify this is a pre-ZA Daryl. He's on the road to recovery so he's not as...difficult or prejudiced. lol. The guy is still learning. This is a whole lot lighter, still hints of darkness because we can't really explore these characters without going down that route, but it won't be as bad since this fic is a bit more plot driven. The backdrop is set in Florida so yes to beaches and sun and palm trees and alligators because why not, this is an AU. Let's have fun with this. Hope you enjoy!

“Looks like trouble always seems to find you,” probation officer Rick Grimes shuffled through his papers, putting them in place. He looked towards the man across him, who was shifting awkwardly in his seat.

“Hmmph,” Daryl grunted, looking out the window. “I’m taking the classes, working the job, what else you want?”

“Well. It’s great you’re doing all that,” Rick nodded. “That’s great. But you never do a whole lot of talking in these meetings.”

“You got a degree?”

“Yes,” Rick gestured behind him at his bachelor’s degree. Daryl scoffed. It was in a nice fancy frame and everything.

“That don’t look like a doctorate or whatever the hell they call them. You’re no doctor. You said abide. I abide.”

“Wait a minute,” Rick said pointedly, “You aren’t doing this for me or the system. We’re doing those things for you.”

“There ain’t no we. I’m working for jack shit.”

“No cussing, remember what I said.”

“Sorry,” Daryl licked his lips, seemingly apologetic.

“I get it. You’re mad. You’re mad at me. At the world. But that hasn’t gotten you far has it? Aren’t you tired? You’ve already hit the big four o behind bars. Doesn’t it put that into perspective?”

Daryl stayed silent, immediately looking away. He had hit a nerve.

There was a hole in his heart. It was gaping. He had his vices, but Daryl had to cut down on each of them bit by bit. Less boozy nights, less cigarettes smoked. He was recovering, Rick always reminded him of that. He hated it.

“Don’t you have a dream,” Rick continued. “I mean everyone has one. I know I do.”

“That’s some Disney channel shit. I just wanna be in an alright place,” Daryl snapped back, leaning forward in his chair.

“That’s a start.” There was a pause before Rick said what was really bothering him. “And…Merle?”

Daryl crossed his arms, his lips pursing. “Nothing.”

Bitterly Daryl walked outside. He hated showing up to the meetings but he didn’t really fit in with the prison crowd when Merle wasn’t around to smooth things over. Trying to assimilate into society seemed to be the next best thing.

He breathed in the hot muggy air, the sun shining bright. Pulling on his leather jacket, he passed by Rick’s truck. It was junked up, probably what was left from the divorce he had just recently gotten through with his wife. Daryl had it all figured out pretty fast just by looking at the way he presented himself. The car, the framed pictures of his cute kid and no woman in sight.

There was a sadness, a desperation in everything he did, like he was always trying to find the brighter side of things, not out of habit but out of circumstance.

Rick was trying to get the door open, visibly frustrated by the hunk of junk. He was in typical business casual wear, a light blue button up shirt and khakis, the cowboy boots didn’t go too well with it, but that was Rick. It was like watching some kind of hell. Rick caught notice of him looking and waved.

Reluctantly Daryl lifted his hand and waved back. It was completely out of his own will. He supposed it was pity, or maybe Rick was working towards to some great breakthrough. Daryl didn’t fret on it too long, he got on his motorcycle and drove home.

\-----

It wasn’t a surprise if Merle Dixon was the last person walking the surface of the world to still use a Walkman. He had it hooked in his belt loop, one headphone on his ear, Iron Maiden playing so loud anyone he passed could hear. After moving away from the crowds, the bright sunshine and the almost naked girls, Merle hopped a couple fences until he was at his final destination.

He lingered underneath the shade of a palm tree, going through his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. When he was satisfied with what was inside, he sauntered over the front door of a duplex. He rang the doorbell and the door swung open.

There was a pretty rough looking girl with intense brown eyes staring straight at him. He smiled that sort of smile that made her stomach immediately churn.

“Who you’re looking for,” she hissed, loudly chewing on her bubble gum.

“Our lord and savior,” he jeered, an extra sparkle in his eye. She rolled her eyes and let him in.

“He’s over there.”

People were all around him, some splayed in different areas of the house, getting high or sleeping off their high. Merle took special notice of any attractive girls, giving them an extra second or two, his mouth parting, his tongue licking across his lower lip.  They always gave him the same response, scowling or cursing, immediately looking away.

He was used to it, he just laughed it off before getting to Jesus’ room. He knocked a couple of times.

“Yeah come in,” a voice inside called out.

“Ah. Guess what cracker ass is here to see you,” Merle sang, throwing the bag to Jesus’ feet.

Jesus had a tired expression, clearly he wasn’t so happy to see him. “You’re late,” he turned away and went back to counting cash on his bed.

“How’s my favorite fairy doing?”

“What,” Jesus snapped. “God. Just—I’m up to here with you. The cash in there?” He unzipped the bag, feeling relief almost as soon as he had the stacks in his hands. He pulled them out and put them on his comforter along with the rest of his cash.

“For being so zen you listen to some very angry music,” he was eyeing up his vinyl collection, lots of bands he remembered from back in the day and some he didn’t. He pulled out an Iggy and the Stooges record, “Boy you wasn’t even kicking then.”

“Be quiet, please. I’m counting.”

“Shit, bad day?”

“No,” he started to calm down, the lines on his forehead relaxing.  “You’d say I’m a reasonable guy right?”

“Fuck yeah,” Merle said in all seriousness.

“Don’t screw me please. I set these guidelines for a reason. And there’s talk. I hear the product isn’t as strong as it usually is around the area where you’re selling and it really gets me thinking—“ His eyes met with Merle’s, fierce and intense. “You have better not be using. The cash I give you can go for your recreational activities, alright.”

“Ain’t nothing going up this nose. I like my cheap shit,” Merle said with a crooked grin.

“Fine. I’m only letting this go by because you got me the cash. Here,” he handed Merle his cut. “There’s another bag waiting for you. She’ll help you with the arrangements.”

The girl from earlier was lingering like a hawk, her eyes not moving away from Merle, her arms crossed. “Alright just leave me alone with this viper,” Merle sighed, then looked at her, rubbing his chin. “You got a boyfriend, girl?”

“Fuck off,” she spat.

“Shit. You need one.”

Jesus watched their little interaction and widened his eyes in aggravation, then leaned back into his pillows. “Great. Amazing,” he murmured to himself.

He got up off his bed and grabbed a beanie, pulling it over his head. He changed out of his pajama pants, keeping his loose black shirt on and slipped on some grey skinny jeans. For a moment he looked at himself in the mirror. Everything was okay enough, a cop wasn’t about to pull him over for being suspicious with this look. He threw all the money in a safe, then locked it.

Satisfied, he walked out of the bedroom, grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and put on a pair of sunglasses, making his exit.

At the end of the sidewalk there was a black Mercedes. The window slowly rolled down, a man was waving for Jesus to get closer. Jesus narrowed his eyes, instantly recognizing him. He jogged towards the car leaning in.

“I saw a man come in with a duffel bag and leave with nothing. Pretty damn suspicious don’t you think,” the man barked, panic in his eyes.

“Look Gregory. I usually don’t shit on my own doorstep but he just showed up. I have the cash if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Don’t say that out loud for christ’s sake. There are eyes everywhere.”

“Really,” Jesus stepped back, crossing his arms, “I have a perfectly functioning burner cell you can call instead of just showing up.”

“I am not calling attention to myself not like you are.”

“A black Mercedes,” Jesus lowered his sunglasses. “C’mon. Buy a Japanese hybrid car like the rest of us.”

With that Gregory rolled up his window, Jesus watching the car drive away.

He’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t already sick of this. Doing most of his work at night, sleeping the whole day through. He missed early mornings and eating breakfast. Then again he could eat breakfast now. He smirked as he played with his keys.

\--------------

A couple hours never really added up to much for Daryl. They felt decades long, but the paycheck always said otherwise. The minutes wore on. He’d clean around an old office building. He was always weary it was old enough to have asbestos in between the walls. But the one thing he would see was the occasional patches of mold in the carpet or on the ceilings. There was water damage, the occasional dead rats, used condom wrappers. He’d seen it all. It was nothing short of a shithole.

The place was so isolated sometimes he’d run into kids fucking In the one solitary bathroom near the back of the building. Daryl always dreaded opening that particular door. If it wasn’t that, it was shit smeared on the wall or piss splashed everywhere. All he knew was every day he lost even more faith in humanity.

To add to that, he had to wear a uniform. One that didn’t quite fit, loose in some places, tight in others. It was humiliating each time he caught his reflection in the mirror. The lightbulb above the mirror was harsh and flickering. He focused on the wrinkles, the puffy bags underneath his eyes, the graying of his scruff, his hair growing long and wispy.

This wasn’t what he had in mind when he’d come out the other end.

He blinked, watching the dirty mop water swirl. He wanted to go back to the life he knew. Being a nomad, making easy money. The honest truth was he missed Merle whether he wanted to or not.

Things were shitty but they’d always get by. With weary eyes he took a deep breath, lowering his head. There was a person walking down the hall, they looked him straight in the eye then looked away like he was the most disgusting thing in the planet.

Daryl cringed, he should have been used to that look, but it didn’t sting any less. He was so ashamed of himself, it made him feel this seething frustration, like he was a trapped animal trying to claw his way out but there was nowhere to go.

Once he put in his hours he always seemed to find himself at the same place. There was a nice girl at the end of that shitty day. She was almost always there and if she was absent, he always felt it deeply.

It wasn’t so much a crush as it was a longing for anything comforting or positive. Not that he really knew what a crush constituted of. But Merle probably would have had a few choice words to describe it. He was always there in the back of his head like some other personality.

“The usual,” she asked with a smile, leaning towards him with bright blue eyes. Daryl blinked focusing on the nametag. _Beth._

That’s a nice name. He was always on the cusp of paying her that compliment but instead he just gave her a nod, his eyes briefly looking at hers before darting away.

She brought him a cup of coffee and lingered beside his table, her hand on the surface, her finger tracing circles. He could feel her look of concern, he knew she was about to make conversation and he half dreaded it because he was always scared of unraveling and telling her just how bad his day really was.

“So how was your day, Daryl?”

The dreaded question.

“Okay,” he mumbled, sipping on his black coffee.

“Hey,” she swayed a little, “Things will look up.” She nodded and bat her eyelashes.

Daryl nodded too, biting back a timid little smile that was surfacing on his lips. He lowered his head beating himself up for not saying a thing. Little did he know at the booth behind him sat someone who was about to change his life. For better or for worse, that much was unsure.

His face was hidden behind the menu as Beth approached him with her smile unwavering. The man was handsome, long silky hair, a perfect ski-jump nose, facial hair somewhere between scruff and the beginnings of a beard, and eyes that were shamefully too easy to get lost in. It seemed like Beth was their next victim.

Of course the man was Jesus.

“Are you ready,” she practically sang.

“Yeah, well no, I can’t make up my mind,” he laughed, then pointed at her nametag. “Beth? That’s a beautiful name.”

“Oh,” she blushed immediately, giggling, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”

Jesus swore he heard a grumble behind him, but he figured maybe he was hearing things. He wrinkled his nose and let out a sigh, closing the menu and placing it on the table.

“You know what? I’m going to let the fates decide. What is that guy having?”

“Grilled cheese.”

“Nevermind,” Jesus’ eyes grew wide, as he opened up the menu again, pointing at one of the options. “I’ll have waffles, with the sausage and the eggs, I’d like them scrambled.”

“Alright then,” Beth beamed before leaving.

 _What a nice girl._ Jesus thought to himself with a smile. He felt something bump against the back of the cushion of his booth, then he felt it again.

What was up with that guy behind him? Jesus rolled his eyes.

Another unhappy camper. How on earth could anyone be unhappy at IHOP?

After eating his meal, Daryl paced back and forth near the car he assumed belonged to the guy. He furrowed his brow, telling himself he shouldn’t be so angry. But he needed to focus this anger somewhere. The guy who owned this car must have been some tree hugger, up to his neck in privilege. The idea of it filled Daryl with so much anger that he lost control.

Inside he was still enjoying his meal. Daryl hadn’t caught sight of his face not that he needed to. He was probably pretentious, with a million other qualities that he didn’t even want to think about. The point was he was okay, his life was together meanwhile Daryl’s wasn’t.

That was enough to go over the edge.

Daryl was _not_ a victim.

He pulled a baseball bat out of the bag on his motorcycle. With a practice swing he targeted on the headlights.

It went as his decisions usually go, with a countdown. His emotions completely overtaking him.

1…

2…

**3**

He swung, over and over. That was the nice thing about fiberglass. It never disappointed in being dented on impact. He just kept swinging over and over. One satisfying swing after another.

It was already close to night by then, the parking lot pretty much isolated, so he had every opportunity to enjoy this, to enjoy smashing the hell out of this piece of crap vehicle.

He saved the last swing for the window. As soon as the glass shattered, he got the hell out of there. People were standing in the restaurant to see what was going on. With his baseball bat in hand he ran to his motorcycle. Starting it off with a rumble and driving away to a safe distance to watch this asshole run outside and see the damage.

Daryl’s eyes widened as soon as he saw a man with his two kids come outside. He looked like he was screaming.

Oh crap. That wasn’t the guy. The guy didn’t have kids.

His jaw dropped, and he covered his mouth, his heart sinking almost immediately.

“Oh shit. Ah fuck,” Daryl hissed, stunned at the aftermath of his own irrational actions. He drove off, giving them one last sympathetic look before driving away. He hoped they had some type of insurance or something.

Along with a couple of other people Jesus went outside, he looked over at the family assessing the damage. He covered his face in shock. Of course he had seen things in his life and the city they lived in was far from being crimeless, but he still felt strong feelings for the people who caught in the path of destruction.

Dragging his flip flops, he disappeared into his own car, digging in the glove compartment and shoving something into his pocket.

He approached them, the father was frantic taking pictures of the damage with his cell phone, the children looking on in shock.

“Hey uh—“ Jesus leaned in.

“Did you see who did it,” he furrowed his brow.

Jesus nodded side to side, “No. I didn’t I’m sorry.”

“God damn it. Why would someone just—“

“Doesn’t matter, some people just have a chip on their shoulder. You don’t need to make sense of it. The point is there’s a problem here that needs solving right?”

The man looked at him confused. “I—guess?”

“I can help,” Jesus’ gaze had an instantaneous calming effect on him. The man blinked, paralyzed.

“How?”

“You don’t need to know my name or thank me or whatever. This is under the table. Me helping you didn’t happen. Can you promise me that?”

“I’m not sure—“

“I just need a yes or a no,” he smiled.

There was a beat before the man paused, “Yes. Yeah. Of course.”

“Alright,” now Jesus was beaming. He handed him an envelope. “I don’t need it anyway.”

With sweaty palms the father looked at his own trembling hand. Jesus got in his car, pulling out his cellphone nonchalantly as if nothing happened. Beth watched him curiously from the entrance.

“Holy fuck,” the father screamed, he immediately turned to his kids. “Sorry—I didn’t say that. Don’t tell your mom I cussed she’ll kill me.”

“What is it, dad,” one of the kids got closer, his eyes growing large as soon as he saw his dad thumbing through the 100s.

Beth gasped. She took notice Daryl was gone and now Jesus too. She looked into the distance at the silhouettes of palm trees, pink and orange skies and the color of dusk setting through.

_What the hell?_


	2. Monkey's Paw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, sorry I took a while to update. I actually have another chapter I'll post not long after this one so there will be less of a wait. I'd like to say first of all that this is first and foremost a Darus fic, but it does rely on an ensemble cast full of different twd characters to get the plot going. I'm letting my imagination run a little wild here. So it'll be a while before Daryl and Jesus' path's cross. But believe me, the wait is worth it haha.

The memories came in flashes. Popping pills, drinking whiskey, sitting alone. The bar filled with customers, raucous, loud music and men laughing, slapping their knees, slamming their glasses filled to the brim.

In a haze lyrics echo in Daryl’s head. His neck was sore, holding the weight of his heavy skull. Blinking slowly, hoping the burning in his eyes would go away, he tried to focus on where he was at. Outstretched were his legs, one boot on, the other not.

Some honkytonk song was playing on the speaker above him with a crackle and pop. He was in a bathroom stall. The light flickering every other second or so. Sniffing at the air, he could smell the acidity and ripeness of his own puke, a little dribbled on his chin, and on the toilet seat.

He shifted, groaning as his bones made cracking noises with each movement. On his knees he started to reassess his surroundings, trying to figure out what got him there. Moving the hair off his face, he got up out of the stall to look at himself in the mirror.

His bare chest was showing, his shirt was an ill-fitting Hawaiian print, flowers and whatever bullshit. He cringed but he wasn’t about to take it off, he looked around for the shirt he probably came in wearing. Nothing.

“T’fuck, man.”

He ran his hands through his greasy hair feeling an overwhelming amount of shame. He dug through his pockets, luckily he found a comb so he slicked back his hair, trying not to focus too hard on his reflection.

He was aching, really bad. There were bruises on his elbows and knees, his jaw wasn’t opening and closing the way it should, he tasted blood in his gums. An influence of alcohol and drugs were still flowing through his veins, he felt off. His nostrils were dry and bloodied and his usual swagger was replaced with a zig zag, dragging his legs with each step forward.

Well there was a minor victory, his shoe was near the entrance of the bathroom. He slid it on, shuddering as soon as he realized it made a squish noise. It reeked of piss. Oh crap. He reeked of piss.

Putting his hand over his eyes, he ground his teeth, letting out an agonizing moan.

Did someone seriously piss on him? What the hell happened?

Those words kept repeating over and over in his head. Throbbing, pulsing, nothing short of agonizing and humiliating.

Eventually he emerged from the bathroom, one of the waitresses that was attending some men gave him a sympathetic look. Daryl looked away.

The bar was mostly empty, the place looked ready to close. His ears rang hearing some old raunchy old people knocking back shots of tequila, their loose clothes barely hanging on to their forms. Daryl swore he saw a saggy tit falling out of one of the women’s shirts. He snarled and made his way out.

He tried to reassure himself this wasn’t the beginning of a long string of mistakes.

This was one bad night, everyone has bad nights. He leaned against the wall, looking through the ashtray on a trashcan for any half smoked cigarettes. After finding one, he lit it and smoked it, wiping the grime off his face.

_Everyone_ has bad nights, he repeated again, lowering his head, watching drunk people going in their separate directions like marionettes. They stumbled about, no real destination in mind.

“Idiots,” he grumbled.

Speaking of drunk, he was losing his footing, swaying side to side. Eventually deciding he wasn’t going to take his bike home, he sat down on a bench, throwing the cigarette to the concrete and crushing it underneath the heel of his shoe.

Out of the darkness the waitress appeared. She walked slowly towards Daryl, her eyes watching him carefully. “Ey.” Daryl heard coming from behind him.

“I was here first,” Daryl mumbled. “Oh.”

She moved into his line of vision, clutching at her towel. “Gracias.”

He raised his head, looking into her face, he nodded and waved his hand shooing her away. “De nada.”

Alone again he thought of his lost battle, the battles he kept losing one after another. He turned to see her disappear back into the bar. He blinked with heavy lids, the burning in his eyes now finally subsiding.

Suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks as he shifted, feeling like something was completely off.

They took his wallet, those bastards.

\-------------

It had to be three or four in the morning before Jesus was able to get to bed. Music was still humming in his head. It wasn’t his favorite kind of music, but it was still stuck. Laying on his side he watched the cars go down the street through his sheer curtains and open blinds. With weary eyelids, he was getting close to getting some real rest.

His phone vibrated then lit up on his night stand. Grabbing it, he saw it was a text. He groaned.

_Outside. Please open the door. :/_

Loud knocking on the front door brought Jesus to his feet. After stepping over his friends and customers that were either sleeping or still awake, he went outside, the door slamming behind him.

A man stood pacing back and forth, he was wearing a flannel shirt, his pants tucked into his boots that were untied. Jesus looked him over, concerned.

“What did I tell you,” Jesus said in a hushed whisper.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. What do you expect me to do,” the man said with a weary voice. “He’s at work and well—the car practically drove itself here.”

“Alex—I—I can’t,” he said calmly. “We can’t even be friends. And I remember asking you to delete my number.”

“Yeah. But don’t you like being wanted, I know you do.”

“I’m not that shallow.”

“Neither am I,” Alex pleaded, “You and I are just in a shit place.”

“You are in the shit place and you dragged me in with it,” Jesus said, his eyes growing fierce. “I can’t go there.”

“So that kiss—“

“I was lonely,” Jesus said sternly, he was telling a half truth. Of course he was lonely but it wasn’t just nothing. He thought of their lips colliding, the instantaneous jolt of electricity. It was stupid, mind numbingly stupid. “You weren’t special. You were just there.”

Alex took a step back, his eyes suddenly distant and watering. He blinked in shock, “That’s not true, Paul.”

“I shouldn’t have told you my name. That was stupid,” Jesus grimaced.

“So you tell everyone your life story then?”

“No.”

“There were a lot of sleepless nights and I know you rarely drink. You were sober. I know you love me.”

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Jesus looked away, he could feel Alex moving closer, his hand cupping his cheek. Shutting his eyes, Jesus found himself trying to wish it all away. He felt himself melting, Alex lingering, hardly any space in between them. Regaining some consciousness, he placed his hands on the other man’s arms, gently pushing him back. “I need some sleep and you really need to think this out. Like really think about the consequences because I don’t think you have.”

“I have,” Alex blinked slowly, his eyes lost in Jesus’.

“If you love me so much you’ll turn around, get into that car and try to remember why you fell for Wes.”

“Because you weren’t there, you know that.”

Jesus blinked back his tears, moving his gaze away. “Just go.” He found the strength to walk away. Once he was inside he stood in the darkness of his room, standing just to the side of his window, looking through the blinds.

He could make out the shadow of Alex’s figure resting against the hood of his car. It forced Jesus to reflect on the memories they had together, it wasn’t all bad but it was mostly bittersweet. The life he led forced him to make sacrifices, however hard they were to make. It was never easy to swallow and Alex was the kind of guy who loved with all his heart and soul. Minutes passed before Alex got in and drove away. Jesus turning his back towards the window.

\-----------

“I was at the store. The uh—grocery store and I’ve been on a diet. You know they say just changing your diet will do wonders on you. Gluten free, organic food, whatever. I practically live at Whole Foods now. You know what they say heh—or at least I say, whole foods make you feel—uh—whole,” the man was wearing all beige, he didn’t remember seeing him before so he figured he probably had already introduced himself on one of the days he missed.

Daryl stared blankly at him, feeling himself start to drift.

“Well,” the guy ran his hands through his groomed hair. A stray blond hair always found its way to obscure his vision. He was always brushing it away and it was always coming forward, Daryl figured that was a huge source of frustration for him.

The guy clenched his jaw, letting his head fall back as he started turning red recalling the memory. “Well,” he clutched at his pants, anxiously. “I saw this woman and she was holding up the line, all over a jar of nutella. This woman comes all the way to Whole Foods and buys Nutella from the clearance aisle and then complains about it. Go to a regular grocery store, I swear to—I just. I can’t believe people. I wanted to scream at her, I had things to do at home. I needed to feed my fish.”

Daryl rubbed his face and stood up to get some air. He stopped to see a woman there smoking a cigarette. She had a small frame, her shoulders slouched, wearing loose colorless clothing and her hair grey. Turning slightly she mouthed a small hello to him.

He nodded, moving further away from her so he could light his own cigarette. She smiled, facing his direction. “And to believe I thought I was the only person who’d step out for a smoke at an anger management meeting.”

“Far from alone,” Daryl blew out a cloud of smoke, squinting his eyes at her. “Never seen you before.”

“I float from place to place. They never seem to do a thing for me,” she shrugged. “Churches always shove God down your throat. I’m looking for a place where he’s less involved.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Yeah. Would it be shocking if I said I used to be religious?”

“No.”

“Why,” she smirked, after blowing out smoke.

Daryl dropped his head, rubbing his nose bashfully, “Well the world has a way of beating the faith right out of you.”

“You’re right,” she pointed at him, appearing to be amused. “Let’s ditch this place, huh? Get a bite to eat or something? You’re my kind of company.”

“Heh,” Daryl felt himself blush as he stared at the ground, “I think I know what you’re asking. I’m gonna have to say no.”

“I’ll blow you if that’s what you want,” she said forwardly, so straight-faced that Daryl was at a loss for words.

“Naw,” he frowned. “You wouldn’t want that.”

“Well if you know what I want, tell me then,” she moved closer to him, the loneliness more apparent in her eyes.

“You probably need a friend,” he said softly.

“Oh. That works,” she offered him her hand, “My name is Carol.”

Awkwardly he shook hers, returning back to being aloof, smoking the rest of his cigarette. She watched him expecting him to say something.

“And your name,” she cocked her eyebrow.

“It’s uh—Daryl.”

“Daryl hmm,” she smiled, “I’m coming next week only if you’re coming.”

“I don’t know. All this self-help is wearing off on me.”

“They say return to the scene of the crime and apologize. It isn’t that fucking easy,” Carol leaned in closer, her voice dry. “But what do I know? The man I beat the crap out of deserved it.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, “Daryl shut his eyes, then opened them again slowly, thinking of the past few days. Thinking of how much he fucked himself over. He was unsure if there was any coming back from that.

“You’re talking to a stranger, that’s still something. I say don’t let yourself be the victim, own your decisions and roll with the punches. Nirvana’s somewhere at the end of the road,” she pointed at the horizon, “And if that’s not enough, I have an empty passenger seat in my old chevy impala and we could run.”

Daryl furrowed his brow, so many conflicting emotions at once. She emptied her cigarette carton and wrote down her number on the back of it with a pen she had in her purse. Daryl watched her confusion as she slipped it to him.

“I can be the Thelma to your Louise without all that gay stuff,” she grinned, “That is if you don’t mind me bringing my little girl with us.”

Later that night Daryl stared at the carton. He tucked it in his jacket pocket as he walked to the bar to take his bike home. His eyes lingered on the establishment. It was getting late, people were treading in. He saw a familiar face. It was one of the men from before.

He rubbed his eyes, staring at his shoes. He took a deep breath, stretched his neck, then walked in.

Not far behind him a truck came to a stop parking right behind his bike, someone watching him from inside.

Daryl’s eyes locked with the waitress from before, alarmed she looked at them, then back to Daryl. She gave him a nod of acknowledgment before turning her attentions behind the bar. Immediately Daryl approached who appeared to be the leader of the group.

“Hey you piece of shit,” he hissed, grabbing the man by the collar.

The guy turned around, a shit eating grin on his face. He pointed at him and burst out laughing, “Hey! It’s the guy! How did my piss taste, huh?”

Daryl gave him a stone cold glare, “And you’re the shit for brains who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. You’re a damn coward.”

“And you can’t mind your own business. The lady wanted it whether she said so or not. A little healthy touch ass does no harm.”

The blood was boiling in Daryl’s veins, he clenched his jaw, pulling the guy so close their foreheads were nearly touching. There was a little bit of panic in the man’s eyes. Daryl was near the edge, just on the brink of losing it.

“Hey man you gonna kiss him or what,” one of the guy’s buddies said, with a low chuckle.

And that was just enough to get Daryl to snap. The leader’s eyes were now wide, he was backtracking a bit but it was too late. With both hands grasping at his collar now, Daryl headbutted him. The leader clutching at his face and moaning, leaning against the pool table.

The guy who made the stupid comment ran towards Daryl, Daryl paid no mind to him, grabbing him and putting him in a chokehold. The man cursed and struggled, his head promptly smashing against Daryl’s knee before falling to the ground.

“What the fuck man,” the leader approached him once he gave himself a second to recover. He lunged, Daryl dodging him, then smashing a bottle on his face. He didn’t notice another guy going in for the kill, this one did land a punch on Daryl’s face. It was a much bigger guy so he was stronger. He had Daryl by the hair and threw him against the bar, dragging his face along surface of it. Daryl tried to get out of his grasp, he grabbed some sliced limes out of a bowl and squirted them in the man’s eyes.

“Holy fucking hell! God damn fag,” he screamed at the top of his lungs. Daryl spit out blood on him and punched him square in the jaw. It didn’t do much damage, the guy punched him in the gut sending him to the ground.

Struggling to get up, Daryl pulled a stool, swinging it at his legs sending the guy to his level.  The guy was still attempting to see, clawing at his eyes and groaning. He started crawling on the glass to get closer to Daryl’s figure. His hands reached out far enough to get Daryl by the leg. Daryl started squirming, trying to kick him off until he finally knocked him in the face.

Again. And then again. And again. The man’s face was a bloodied mess, now unconscious in a pool of his own blood.

Standing as the victor, Daryl started going through each man’s pockets.

“Pendejo,” the waitress said from behind the bar, she cocked her shotgun pointing it at Daryl. “I did you a favor, we’re equal huh?” She tossed him his wallet to the floor.

Daryl looked at her confused, “You didn’t?”

“It’s a win win,” she said triumphantly, “I’m sweet on the eyes. They think I don’t know a word of English. They get too close, I swipe a wallet. I so happened to find yours. All you had to do was ask instead of storming in.”

“Shit,” Daryl’s eyes were wide, blood dripping down his nostrils and out his ears. He struggled to stand up straight.

“Yeah _shit_. Now get the fuck out,” she got closer and Daryl started backing off with both hands in the air.

“You are one hell of a bad ass bitch.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Hey—uh—thanks,” Daryl mumbled, she still didn’t put down the gun although her eyes did get brighter. “Umm…”

“The name’s Rosita,” she crookedly grinned, the barrel of the gun just barely touching Daryl’s jugular vein.

Daryl blinked, startled as soon as the door swung open. Rick pointing his gun at her.

His eyes grew large as he assessed the damage. The place was nearly empty, three men on the floor. Two struggling to stand and one was out of it. Rick put down his weapon and felt for the pulse of the larger man, relieved to feel the thump of his heartbeat.

“Oh shit, he’s still alive,” he wiped the sweat off his own face, both Daryl and Rosita looking on in shock. “Put down your gun, ma’am. I’m an officer, I’ll take him into custody.”

He grabbed at Daryl’s arm, pulling him out. Accidentally Rosita’s finger hit the trigger, blowing out the window just as Daryl was out of the bar. Rosita groaned and looked at all the damage.

“Fuck me,” she put her hand over her face, turning away. “My ass is on the line cause of you fuckers,” she screamed at the top of her lungs at the men.

“Hey you don’t gotta grab me so hard—“ Daryl fussed as they ran, Rick throwing the door open to his truck and shoving him in.

“She shot. Did you hear? Christ. And here I am saving your god forsaken ass—“ he pointed at him, his eyes fierce. “What on earth are you doing?” He slammed the door on Daryl before he could explain.

“My bike, man. I gotta get my bike,” Daryl moaned, but Rick paid no mind to him. He got in on the other side, turning the ignition, the truck loudly turning on and Rick driving it away.

Rick bit back on his words, then spoke firmly, “I’m not going to report you.”

Daryl was completely confused, his face a bloodied and bruised mess. “What?”

“Well--,”Rick gave him a sympathetic look, going through a fast food bag with one of his hands and taking out some greasy looking napkins. Daryl smirked and nodded side to side, instead pulling his shirt up at the hem and wiping his face off on it. For a drawn out moment Rick had a strange expression before letting out a sigh, tapping his fingers on the dashboard. “You nearly killed a guy there. You know that right?”

“Pfft. He had it coming.”

“I’m not disputing that but—“

“But what,” Daryl furrowed his brow.

“Have you really thought what you’re capable of? Doesn’t it keep you up at night? Aren’t you scared?”

There was a pause, Daryl immediately changed the subject, “What were you doing? You following me?”

“No…well—I was on other business.”

“Yeah? Like what? You’re not a real officer, it’s not like you’re on duty or nothin’”

“I wanted a drink,” Rick breathed out, ashamed of himself. “Then I saw you walking, I got curious. Something about that strut made me know that there was trouble ahead of the line.”

“Hmmph,” Daryl scoffed, crossing his arms.

“I spent a while in the car asking myself if I should go in. I said to myself you’re my job, not my friend. But sure enough I pulled you out of a real pickle.”

“Pickle?”

“Yeah, pickle.”

“Really? Pickle. You’re really gonna use that word?”

“Stop riding me,” Rick groaned, rolling his eyes. “I am not going to let you mess this up.”

“This ain’t the first time,” Daryl pouted, looking out the window. “I’ve screwed up plenty already.”

“And so you’re giving up then, like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to get out of this. You probably got some god complex, so fuck off.”

“Really? So you choose to isolate yourself then?”

“Yeah it’s worked out real fine so far!”

“You’re running out of chances, Daryl. We don’t get a whole lot of them. Either you change or you’ll end up finding yourself on the wrong end of a gun again.”

“Thanks for the advice. Can I get out now? Least I can do is walk home.”

“Look I can take you to a hospital or something…you look bad.”

“No,” Daryl looked back out the window, moving his hair onto his face to cover his bruises. “Nothing a shower can’t fix.” He said with puffy eyes.

Rick reached out and rubbed his shoulder, Daryl flinching instantly, “I know it’s not professional—hell nothing I did right now was professional but I need your word you won’t tell.”

“Why t’fuck would I,” Daryl gave Rick a smirk. It was about the most affection Rick had seen him give. Recovering from the rush of the moment, it was suddenly calm, both of them feeling some strange warmth for one another. It was uncomfortable. Neither of them had considered friendship until that moment. In silence except for the radio humming low, Rick drove Daryl to his house, blinking sadly at the place he lived in once they got there. Small, cramped, the smallest yard he had ever seen, the grass high and the weeds growing even higher. On either side were his neighbors. Kids playing outside, teens in groups staring them down. This wasn’t the first time Rick had visited his place, it just looked even worse than before.

Finally Rick spoke once Daryl started pulling on the door handle in an unsuccessful effort to escape.

“Child locks,” Rick smiled.

“Oh,” Daryl chuckled low, a childlike look of embarrassment on his face.

Rick unlocked them, watching Daryl leave. “Okay, now get on out of here. Don’t forget the next meeting alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daryl waved him off, walking slowly, his back hunched. Rick stayed for a while to make sure he got inside before driving off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the long and fruitful romance between Rick and Daryl. Oh wait. No. Nope. Never mind. They're just friends in this one. lol.


	3. Black Grease

Three lines Merle snorted, or who the fuck knows, maybe he lost count.

“Fucking that is the tits. Licking god damned porn star tits,” he moaned, his eyes rolling back as he raised his head, soaking in that high. He ground his teeth together, particles of enamel were flat on his tongue as he swallowed his beer. He ran in place, bouncing around the hollow floor of his cramped trailer.

He didn’t know what he was doing, in fact he didn’t care. But he did fancy himself as some famous boxer, winning a match against some Mexican dude whose name he couldn’t bother trying to pronounce. “I am mother fucking Rocky Balboa, bitches,” he snickered, shutting his eyes.

For whatever reason he spoke to an audience, but there wasn’t one. The place was about as empty as it always was.

There was a sudden banging on the door startling him. He jumped, grabbing all his things and shoving them underneath his bed. He slid his tongue along his palm, he ran it across the surface of the counter, where the cocaine was, hungrily licking whatever was left off his flesh.

“Yeah hold on,” he pulled up his pants, adjusting his belt as he walked over to the door.

Through the cover over the window he could see the shadow of a man, moving about anxiously. “Get the damn door open, Merle.”

“Alright buckaroo,” Merle jeered, opening the door, cringing at the difficulty he went through trying to get it open. “Shit needs some of that WD-40, huh?”

The man wasn’t laughing. He had a coat of sweat on his face, his hair slicked back and greasy, wearing a stained wifebeater. “Three months already right?”

“Three months what,” snarled Merle, raising his hands in the air. “You can’t just come into my residence shouting random shit. Come in for a drink or something…but not this.”

“The coke just ain’t working. I fork over the cash in the hopes to give my girl a real classy high ‘cept this isn’t as good as the shit I find in anywhere else.”

“Christ, classy? This sure as hell ain’t the 80s no more. I can tell you haven’t gotten the hint by the car you drive, son.”

The man shoved his way in pinning Merle against the table. “So tell me with that much flour, you about to make yourself a god damned cake?”

“Fuck yeah,” Merle said, his eyes wild before his head was thrown onto the table. He panicked a little, struggling to think straight as this much larger man was about to kick his ass. “Uncle. Uncle!”

“You’re not getting off this easy,” he started punch at his side, Merle now coughing, choking on his breath.

Legs giving way, Merle slumped to the floor, crawling backwards, clutching at his side. “Shit man! I didn’t do nothing.”

One stomp and then another, the guy got closer, cracking his knuckles with his thumb. He licked his lips before grinning.

“No no no,” Merle moaned, as the guy was about to kick him.

The guy stopped for a second and that’s when Merle flew at him, his fingers digging into his eyes. They struggled, slamming into each other from wall the wall until they were in the kitchen. Merle turned on the hot tap, pulling the man by the hair and putting him just under the water. He screamed as the scorching water touched his skin, some of it getting in his eyes.

For the moment Merle was distracted, grinning widely, getting off on the pain he was inflicting. The man reached out for anything, grabbing the handle of a pan, sending rotting egg everywhere as it smashed Merle across the head. Merle fell backwards clutching at his crown.

“Jesus Christ,” he screeched so loud, the world spinning, his head throbbing with a red hot heat. He felt blood coming out of his nostrils, his eyes, his ears even if that wasn’t the case. The point was he was now rendered helpless, slamming his hands against his head praying for the ringing to go away.

The man walked towards him, sticking both fingers in his nostrils, pulling him back onto his feet. Merle was swearing and pleading for his life.

“Was-was it that bad—f-fucking hell. Fuck this. Fuck you!”

“I said…my girl…isn’t happy! My girl is everything,” he shouted into Merle’s face.

Merle blinked before he felt hands around his neck. He tried to find his breath, his hands moving up the man’s arms, then onto his face, trying to get him to stop. And like some message from heaven, his eyes focused on something that could save his life.

His daddy’s machete was right beside him, like some beacon of light. Merle’s fingers were just close enough to the handle. He was seeing the world begin to close in on him. The man’s eyes grew large as soon as he saw him wielding the weapon. Immediately he let go to make his escape, but he didn’t get far by the time Merle swung. In a swift motion the man was screaming and on his knees. Blood everywhere, so much blood he was sliding along the floor.

Merle was watching, bending over laughing so hard, covering his face. “Oh fuck, boy. You don’t look too shabby huh?” He walked over to the hand that was separated from the man’s arm, picking it up staring at it like a curious child. “You missing something,” he joked, throwing it at him.

The man was still screaming, sliding and struggling.

Walking outside, Merle looked at a junked up car that was parked, the engine still running, at the front seat sat the woman whose prince fought so valiant for. Her hair was teased, dry and damaged and an unnatural color of blonde. Her lips were wrapped around a pipe, a light underneath it, the meth bubbling as she inhaled, then breathed out a cloud of smoke.

She looked at Merle confused, blinking a few times, trying to focus on him. “Hey—uh—where’s Charlie.”

“Charlie’s inside, eh. You want to share whatever you’re smoking there?”

She nodded, handing Merle the lighter and pipe. Merle feeling extra chivalrous opened the door for her. “Ladies first, he motioned for her to go ahead of him.”

Stumbling out she walked towards the trailer, meanwhile Merle was leaning against the car, smoking the pipe, staring at her ass as she shuffled in her tight shorts. Eventually he followed her, catching up by the time she was going up the stairs. She stopped dead in her tracks. Looking at Merle, fear in her eyes.

“He’s still alive,” Merle grinned, his hand sliding up and down her waist. “I need someone to help clean up.” He pushed her and she slipped, falling to the ground, blood on her hands and legs as she tried to prop herself up.

“Charlie,” she screamed, trying to get to him.

Merle went to the back of the trailer and pulled a gun out from underneath his bed, pointing it at the both of them.

“Shit I really needed this gun here, would have made the process go a lot smoother.” He grabbed a single roll of paper towels and handed it to her, “Now clean before you two get out of here. I need a rest.” He walked around them, grabbing a six pack of beers from the fridge and a folded lawn chair he had beside the wall. He unfolded it and sat down, slouching real low, his legs wide open outstretched, as he admired the damage he caused.

He was fucking Rocky Balboa, he crookedly grinned, unscrewing the cap off his beer. He took a long delicious swig of the ice cold bubbly piss water.

The red on the vinyl that covered his floor, just spreading. The blonde woman crying on her knees, wiping at the mess that could never be clean, not without a fuck ton of hard work. Charlie wailing in a fetal position, grabbing at the stump where his hand was. 

What a god damned work of art.

\-----------

Lingering outside a large white mansion, Jesus stood outside pacing in the grass. Music was booming and hissing, he had a drink in his hand for whatever reason. Whatever fruity drink it was, it was blue and he didn’t care to drink anything that color, much less anything alcoholic. He poured it onto the grass, when he walked into the building he placed the glass on the table.

His eyes were searching. The place was a hubbub full of all sorts of people. They were different types of important, rich, superficial, up and comers. There were a couple of underage popstars too.

Jesus didn’t seem to care for any of it. He watched everyone finding their own way to get high. With the door wide open, he could see a glimpse of a man being fucked by another man while another woman was on her knees presumably sucking him off.

He crookedly smirked, slightly amused, but more disgusted.

They were living like there was no tomorrow, complete debauchery.

But Jesus always was an outsider looking in no matter how often he was welcomed in these kinds of parties. He fit the look to a tee. Large expressive eyes, a handsome face, some semblance of fashion sense. He was always the guy full of conversation, the guy that everyone seemed to like, eyes just seemed to be drawn to him. Sure it’d prove to be to his advantage but these days he lived like a hermit, doing his job, seldom enjoying anything. Any kind of living he had hoped to do, he had done in his early twenties and now he was past his expiration date, especially the second everything went wrong.

He closed his eyes, he could feel has past creeping behind him. Every time he sought Gregory, it came flooding back. All of it. The thunder, the rain, the heaviness.

Cutting through a crowd, a girl stood in front of him not moving out of his way, dancing underneath a large chandelier, two men at either side of her, rubbing, grinding. Jesus blinked, he thought he saw blood on her, all over her chest, but the lights flashed. No blood. She was beckoning him to join but he quickly walked past her, shaking his head side to side.

As he went on, he eventually found himself walking along the poolside, bright neon lights changing from one color to another. A DJ was at his turntables, everything being run off his laptop. The guy seemed to have his work cut out for him. He was doing lines off of some girl’s breasts.

Jesus watched as his product went up his nose, through his blood stream and into his heart. He tried to not focus on the negative impacts. He was every bit as trapped as they were.

Eventually he found Gregory, hardly by his lonesome self. He was surrounded by girls in bikinis that looked like they’d rather be anywhere but there. Jesus approached him, moving his finger suggestively so that Gregory would follow him.

“Jesus you look great!” He was in good spirits but that wasn’t about to last for long.

“We need to talk,” Jesus looked completely serious.

“Mi casa es su casa! Have a little fun. Is it always business for you?”

“Just come, it’s serious.”

“Alright then.” Gregory excused himself, apologizing to every girl who’d promptly roll their eyes in succession. He grabbed at Jesus’s arm tightly, taking him to a secluded part of his yard near the bushes. “Don’t talk to me like that, especially not in public. They’ll think you’re running things.”

Jesus gave him a deadpan look, “Oh we certainly don’t want them knowing that.”

“Right! So what is it?”

“We have some trouble with a dealer of mine. I told you it was risky selling to that area and sure enough we’ve run into some problems.”

“Who cares? Money is money.”

“It takes one thread for everything to unravel and he’s unhinged. He cut a guy’s hand off for starters. He’s been stealing from me and he’s been pretty much selling flour and keeping the product for himself. It’s giving us a bad rep.”

“Shit,” Gregory’s eyes drooped. He covered his face, then wiped his hands off on his khaki slacks. “Well uh—take care of it.”

“What does that entail? I’m supposed to meet with him Monday.”

“Do whatever you guys do to keep them in line.”

“You guys,” Jesus narrowed his eyes. “I have a reputation to uphold too. I’m firm but easy going. I’m not going outside of my own comfort zone to cover up for your mistakes.”

“I didn’t choose the man.”

“You did when you told me a friend of a friend of a friend trusted him. I took your advice and it’s blown up in both our faces. Newsflash! The shit has officially hit the fan.”

“You got a gun?”

“Why would you even bother asking that question?”

“Answer me.”

Jesus’s eyes glazed over, he felt like a captured animal. “Yes. Yeah I do.”

“Then take care of him.”

“I uh—“

“You need to learn that peaceful tactics don’t work with everyone. Leave that mantra to Gandhi or the Dalai Lama or whoever the hell you idolize.”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Jesus said in between his teeth, looking at him through slits for eyes.

“Make it,” Gregory moved in closer forcing Jesus to back off, his gaze moving elsewhere.

When Jesus got back into his car he leaned over and smacked his glove compartment to get it open. He started going through the papers, fast food wrappers, phone numbers, he pulled out a gun. It was a final option. He didn’t want to have to use it but as soon as he held it in his hands he felt its weight.

The thing was still loaded, Jesus took a deep breath and put it back away. He reclined his head back into his car seat, one hand rubbing his forehead, trying to ease the tension headache he was beginning to get. Music was playing low on his radio.

He tried to remember what the song was, he had it on shuffle but the guitar was distorted and bluesy, the singer’s voice trembling and soulful.

Staring at his reflection in the rearview window, he could see just how tired he was, how stressed, how he was in a situation there was no getting out of. Well he could always run away and leave everything. He let out a sigh, shifting uneasily in his seat. It was always an anxious tick because as soon as he felt the nerves coming on, he tied up his hair in a bun. Leaning forward he started patting on his steering wheel, then turned on the car, driving away.

\----------

As usual her sister was late in picking her up. One of Beth’s coworkers stood beside her, handing her a stick of gum. Beth nervously smiled, taking it and chewing on the stick.

“Are you going to be okay out here on your own,” she said, looking concerned.

There was a fearful look in Beth’s eye for a split second, but it disappeared almost as soon as it came. “I’ll be fine. You get to your kid, now.” She pat her back. The girl smiled.

“Alright, but I won’t feel good about leaving you alone.”

“I’ll text once my sister comes by.”

“Okay, bye.” Her friend disappeared into her car, driving off.

The crickets were chirping, Beth’s back was up against the wall watching traffic going by, desperately hoping for Maggie to show up. But things weren’t so fortunate, Maggie did have a job and she didn’t always get out on time.

Out of the shadows she saw a man approaching her with a cigarette in his mouth, hair covering his face. He blew out smoke, moving underneath the light as she started to back away.

“Hey,” he grumbled.

“Daryl,” she squinted, trying to hold in her gasp as soon as she saw his face. It had been a while since she'd seen him. 

He tilted his head, clearly emotional over something, “I went home, there was nothing there so I came here.”

“It’s still open. It's always open,” she pointed behind her. Hardly anyone was inside, the place didn’t even look open. Daryl looked in that direction and then back into her eyes. “Ask for Viola, she’s really good,” Beth said nervously.

“You guys got any jobs available?”

“Ask the manager, you know…when the sun’s out.”

“Okay well…why’s your smile gone?”

“You’re drunk,” Beth said defiantly.

“You saw didn’t you?”

Beth’s mouth went dry as she looked away, crossing her arms, “I can add two and two together. I'm not stupid.”

“I got it all mixed up. Bashed the wrong car.”

“Why go around bashing cars in the first place?”

“I ah—I dunno.” Daryl stumbled over his words. She raised a good point, and Daryl wasn’t about to argue. It was stupid. It was impulsive. He probably shouldn’t have gone back in the first place. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he struggled to search for her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

It was genuine. At least it sounded genuine but it still pained Beth to even be around him, much less consider him a friend. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” she moved her hair behind her ear, “They’re fine anyways. Someone else helped them out. Maybe if you had stayed behind, you could have done the same.”

“What do you want me to do then, if I’m such a fuck up?”

She licked her lips, her words were a gentle plead, “Go home. Sleep. Wake up and go to work. And just keep doing the same thing until you can find some peace.”

_Peace._

What a freaking luxury. It angered Daryl, it frustrated him. When his feet wearily took him back to his house, he sat in the darkness, his head in his hands. The throbbing and aching in his body didn’t even begin to compare to the pain in his heart. A huge gaping hole, a sense of complete isolation. He was nothing but a disappointment and a danger to others.

Beth’s vibrant blues burned right into the back of his head. He never knew why he did the things he did. He was a puppet to his own impulses.

He could feel his eyelids grow heavy, letting himself fall back into the bed, tears rolling down his eyes. Sniffling back the snot in his nose, he wiped his face, turning his head sideways to the phone that vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and it was an unknown number.

It didn’t take a detective to know who just it was.

\-------------

With his shoes in his hands, Jesus walked along the beach. Dropping them he stood near the shore in silent contemplation, the cool water eventually reaching his feet, up until his ankles. He closed his eyes, inhaling the air, soaking in the peace and quiet.

After taking yet another deep breath, he started taking off his clothes, tossing them aside. He remembered his mother telling him to never swim at night, scolding him. All she ever did was care, caring was a huge weakness after all, although he’d always tell himself otherwise. He was all heart above anything else.

If only she could see him now. He walked into the water, letting his body relax against the waves that eventually pulled him in. The ocean enveloped him now. He watched the shore, as he grew farther and farther from it. His car wasn’t too far. The door open, the lights inside still on, that song still playing in his head.

_Angels._

Right. The Black Angels. They were good.

He let his hair down, the waves crashing over his head. He wanted to open his eyes each time he was underwater but he knew he’d see nothing but darkness.  Each time he’d come back to the surface was like he was breathing his first breath, feeling some sense of appreciation for the life he was living, however trapped, however imperfect, he was still alive. And he’d keep doing that and he wasn’t backing down, not for no one. He blinked quickly, wiping the water from his eyes, focusing on the moon, on the stars above him.

Running his hands through his hair, he floated, looking at the world with new eyes.

The doubt was washed away. He knew what he needed to do.


	4. Joyride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind words, you guys. It really keeps me going. I had a pretty slow start but I realize I've been taking breaks then writing two chapters worth of fic at once. I think that's probably at the rate I'll be updating so just giving you a fair warning. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy. <3 Sorry for any typos or whatnot.

In an alley behind a strip joint Daryl was unfamiliar with, he stood with Merle. He had been to these sort of places before but only because he was forced to tag along. He tried to tune it out, and it was easy to. There was his brother in all his glory. It had been like not a day had passed between them but in actuality this was one whole prison sentence later.

They went straight to business pretty quick, no time for apologies. Or at least that’s what Daryl told himself.

“His name is Jesus,” said Merle.

“Like Jesus, as in Jesus Christ, not like—hey-sus?” Daryl cocked an eyebrow, moving in closer. “Sometimes you’re uhh---what’s the word---intolerant.”

Merle frowned, puffing at a cigarette, “No, stupid. It’s a nickname. Like the boy’s gonna go by his real name? He ain’t stupid like us.”

“He came up with that nickname? Talk about a huge ego.”

“He had no say in it. People just started calling him that. I don’t know what he’d go by before but that shit just ain’t important. Now let me describe him to you.”

“You don’t got a photo?”

“No I sure as hell don’t got a photo. Get with the program. We don’t leave footprints, this guy is smart.”

“Okay okay,” Daryl rubbed his nose, narrowing his eyes and tuning his ears to absorb this important information.

“Alright this Jesus, he’s a real handsome fella, like real _real_ handsome.”

There was an odd look in Daryl’s eyes as he stared at his brother, his mouth nearly falling open.  Was he kidding? Merle looked as dead serious as ever. “Ya joking, right?”

“Looks like one of ‘em Keebler elves. A lawn jockey or some shit. ‘Cept hairy, he’s got long hair and a beard and real pretty. It’s damn near unsettling.”

“You keep stressing that,” Daryl nervously chuckled, “…gotta admit it keeps freaking me out. Now why do I have to see this guy?”

“Because your brother here got himself into a bit of trouble.”

“Eh?”

“You know me. Fucked the wrong chick. You know the drill, if I don’t want to get my ass beat I gotta lay low.”

“You what—“ Daryl’s eyes grew wide, “You screwed _his_ chick?”

Merle burst out into a fit of laughter, so hard he nearly fell over. “Nah trust me, that’d never happen. It’s completely unrelated.”

Daryl nearly beamed, nearly forgot all the bullshit between them. He laughed regardless of knowing what Merle was talking about. There was just something about his brother’s smile, the laugh lines, the crows feet. He wanted this forever. Something so familiar yet so alien at the same time. But these moments always came at a price. Merle Dixon, the world’s biggest screw-up and he wasn’t that tfar behind.

At his feet was a duffel bag. Daryl looked down at it, then pointed. “So I just give him that bag? That’s it?”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy. That’s it. Open and shut.”

“He won’t be suspicious that it’s me and not you?”

“Believe it or not, but it’s very bureaucratic. Just like I work underneath him, I got people below me.”

“Why didn’t you ask them?” It was just instinct to ask, maybe his conscience was getting the better of him.

“Because,” Merle paused, his eyes growing wide as he put his hands on his belt. “I was thinking of bringing you in on the business.”

Daryl grew quiet, shifting side to side, holding his lips tightly together, his head hanging low. “I uh—I dunno bout that.” He nervously scratched at the back of his head. “You said this was just a favor, a one time thing.”

“Yeah,” another deafening pause. Daryl would be a liar if he wasn’t familiar with this set up, familiar with this game. “You gotta keep your options open, little brother.”

That term of endearment suddenly stung like it had once before. Daryl nodded, raising his gaze to his brother’s eyes, the same blue as his own. “And if things go wrong?”

“They won’t,” Merle said firmly. “They won’t.” He leaned in, placing his hand on Daryl’s shoulder.

As if it were a death sentence Daryl accepted things as they were.

The ride back was quiet, Merle was messing with the radio cursing at it like it was the good old days. Daryl just kept focusing on the bag at his feet.

At the corner of the street Merle came to a stop. “Here’s good.”

Daryl was a little shocked, his house wasn’t much further. It was suspicious. He slowly turned towards his brother, giving him a skeptical look. “Here? Okay.” Daryl got out, staring at Merle lighting a cigarette in his mouth, he was blowing through his pack quick.

“As good as any place. Remember when you do the drop you give me a ring ring alright? Make me proud.”

He didn’t know what to expect, now sitting at the edge of his bed slumped over this damn bag. Merle wasn’t about to apologize for before, it just wasn’t his nature. But it was about the most connection he could get out of anyone. If he was going to make anyone proud, it was Merle.

\----------------------------------------

 

Monday reared its ugly head quickly.

In a public bathroom Jesus looked at himself in a mirror. He fixed his hair, focusing hard on his tired eyes. He was wearing a white button up shirt, a charcoal hoodie and a loose cotton blazer. He felt uncomfortable from the layers but it was within reason. He moved uncomfortably, watching his hands clutching at either end of the sink, stretching his neck.

Before he got out he put the palm of his hand at the side of his waist, feeling the form of the gun in the holster underneath his clothes.

Again he stared at his reflection, then walked out, adjusting the beanie he wore on his head. He browsed for a while looking through the aisles, hoping to find just what he went there for. He lingered for a moment in front several different varieties of cat food.

It was pretty overwhelming. He bit at a lower lip before he saw an open opportunity.

“Hey. Excuse me,” he asked a worker who approached him with a wide smile on her lips. She just radiated motherhood. Her hair style was dated, not that it really mattered because she had an almost immediate warmth and openness. Those were always the best people to talk to.

“Anything in particular you were looking for,” she asked.

“Yeah I need a specific kind of cat food. Diet and maybe grain-free? My cat’s a little on the hefty side. I don’t know what’s better…Blue Buffalo or Royal Canin. I know Royal Canin is a French brand, and honestly that just sounds fancy,” Jesus’ eyes glowed bright as he joked.

The worker laughed, “Well you have come to the right place to ask that question.”

\-------------------

Digging through his wardrobe Daryl chose to wear all black. There weren’t a whole lot of colors to choose from, but black felt like a good color for the occasion. Looking at himself in a full length mirror, he buttoned each button, seeing a corpse in his reflection instead of a person. He slid his hands along the surface of the fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles.

Grabbing his keys he left the room. A moment passed before he returned, grabbing the angel wing vest off of the coat hanger from where it was hanging.

A million voices were going at once. Daryl often didn’t choose to be among people, but this was going to be the lone exception. He scanned the faces, the stores, all of it completely outlandish to him, like he was walking on a different planet.

Surprisingly enough with this big of a crowd he was practically invisible. He stared at a map, his finger tracing along it, trying to find where he was and figure out how to get to his destination.

_You are here._

It was beyond him why people chose malls to be so damn complicated. Eventually he found his way to the food court. Luckily he found the place. It was a restaurant that was dimly lit from inside but it also had some tables outside in the food court area as well. People were sitting there, waiters tending to them.

He narrowed his eyes, looking around for this Jesus guy but not a lot of faces stood out. But then he saw a hand flagging down the waiter almost elegantly.

“I’d like a refill thanks,” he heard him speak. The voice struck a chord with Daryl, he didn’t quite understand why. He tilted his head sideways, stopping himself for a brief moment before letting go of the thought entirely.

From what he could make of him he had long hair and a beard, a half opened book in his hand. When the waitress brought him the drink, he saw just enough of his face to know this was him. This was definitely the guy Merle was talking about.

Daryl approached him just as he was starting to read his book, one hand buried in the bowl of chips.

“Jesus,” Daryl asked, his voice trembling simply because raising his voice to a complete stranger in a non-hostile situation was out of his nature.

Jesus turned, his eyes immediately bearing into him. “Excuse me,” Jesus furrowed his brow, studying Daryl.

He almost felt naked in front of him, Daryl’s flushed fiercely, his hair covering his face.

There were about a dozen words that came to mind almost as soon as Daryl saw this man. Something was so captivating about him, in a short moment he knew he was cunning and intelligent, definitely someone not to be trusted. Daryl focused on the full pink lips of his, tense at first then curving upwards into a smirk. Warm and confident.

He felt his heart thump hard in his chest.

Finding the strength, Daryl sat across from him, his head low, now speaking in a hoarse mumble. “I know you’re Jesus.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jesus leaned in, his voice soft and calm. “You’re taking someone else’s seat so if you’d kindly—“

“I ain’t leaving.”

“Alright. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not Jesus.”

“You fit the description.”

“And what’s that exactly,” Jesus crossed his arms.

“You’re uh—you’re short“ Daryl blinked quickly tripping over his words. “Beard, long hair…”

“There’s plenty of guys with that look. I’m one of a million.”

He certainly was not. Daryl felt his mouth go dry.

“He said you erm—that you were—uh, good looking.”

Jesus laughed immediately, moving backwards in his chair screeching it across the floor. He wiped the tears from his eyes, lifting his gaze back to the other man who was sitting there with the most earnest expression. Honestly he looked a little embarrassed, Jesus felt some smidge of pity for him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But isn’t that a matter of opinion?”

Now Daryl was a bright red, his knees bumped against the table startling Jesus. “It’s not funny. I’m here for Merle. He’s my brother. He couldn’t come and—“

“Merle,” he had Jesus’ complete attention now. “What game are you playing?”

“Nothin’. No games,” Daryl’s eyes grew soft then panicked. “He told me you were used to his men coming for him.”

“Men? That’s not how things work.”

Daryl sat back, surprised. He felt his heart sink low into his feet.

“Merle is a liar,” Jesus said pointedly, before grabbing a chip from the bowl. “But I’m sure you already knew that, or else you wouldn’t be his brother.”

“You don’t know shit, prick.”

“Good one,” Jesus sighed out, “You got something for me right there?” He pointed to Daryl’s feet.

Shifting his eyes, Daryl nodded. “So what? Is this happening or are you still not Jesus?”

“Shut up and follow me.”

After walking down a long corridor they were in the men’s bathroom. The entire time Daryl was sizing him up, he _was_ pretty small, at least compared to him.  The clothes he wore probably made him look bigger than he really was.

With the bag now in tow, Jesus checked underneath each of the stalls before he got to counting.

“Stand near the entrance,” Jesus ordered.

Daryl grunted and shrugged. He didn’t exactly follow his directions. Instead he unzipped his pants and started peeing in the urinal closest to the door. He wasn’t about to be this man’s bitch.

A few moments passed, Daryl pissing out a long steady stream.

“What is this,” Jesus looked to him, his eyes wide with anger. “Are you screwing me?” He threw the bag to the floor, holding some of the cash in his hands.

“What the hell,” Daryl muttered, shaking himself off and tucking himself in, “I was pissing. Don’t get in my face.”

“The last thing I care about is your dick.”

At the entrance there was a middle aged man staring at the both of them, completely frightened out of his mind. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can leave,” he stuttered, both hands up in the air.

Jesus calmly walked towards him, guiding him out the door, “Trust me it’s not what you think, but believe me you need to get out of here and if you tell anyone… _anyone_ about what you ran in on. I will find you.”

“Yeah. I won’t say shit. I don’t judge really.”

“God,” Jesus looked completely disgusted as he threw him out,closing it behind him and clicking the lock. “We have five minutes tops. You and me, we need to talk.”

“About what? My brother put all the cash in. He said it was open and close. You probably counted wrong.”

“Really? It looks a whole lot like I’m 1,000 dollars or so short. But I could be imagining that.”

“Yeah,” Daryl napped back, “Maybe you’re the one screwing me. You’re the stupid one making all the mistakes. Why the hell go to a place with one entrance? I could take you and you’d have nowhere else to go, huh?”

“Trust me. You’re the one in more danger than me. Now let’s get to the real meat of this situation. Where the hell is Merle?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know. Tell me, right now.”

“No I don’t. He just takes off. He always takes off,” Daryl was growing emotional, Jesus’ felt a pang of sympathy in his chest, “Look I got his number. I’ll call him and we’ll see just who is the bullshitter.”

“Put it on speaker.”

For a while Daryl fumbled with his phone. He was so nervous, his hands shaking and sweating. He was scared Jesus could look right through him and the fact he was growing restless already made him more nervous.

“What is wrong with you,” Jesus moaned.

“Fuck you,” Daryl snapped back, “It’s a new phone!”

“C’mon it’s an android, those things are the easiest to use.”

“They call them smart but they ain’t smart, they are stupid phones. It’s complete propaganda consumerism bullshit.”

“Wow. Spoken like a real right winger. Why do you have it in the first place?”

“It was free.”

“Okay. Good for you.” With round eyes, Jesus rubbed his face and clenched his teeth from how contradictory this man was.

Daryl gave him a confused look, holding the phone limply in his hand. “Shove it, man.”

Jesus sighed and snatched the phone from him, showing him how to get to his contact list. He scrolled long enough until he found Merle, then dialed it out, putting it on speaker as soon as the thing started ringing. He handed it back to Daryl who let out an exasperated grunt.

“Not that hard, caveman,” Jesus smirked, given the situation he really shouldn’t have been eying up Daryl so fondly. He crossed his arms as each agonizing second passed.

It was until the last ring that Merle answered. “Hmmph. What’s up? You did it? Or—“

“Or what,” Daryl breathed out.

“Did he look in the bag or what?”

“Yeah he counted the money and he’s saying you’re short. I know it’s complete bullshit—I saw you count every last dollar and—“

There was a long pause, then a deep breath, “…Fuck. This is on speaker, isn’t it?”

“I’m stuck in here with the prick, yeah. He’s listening.”

Jesus bit his lip, his eyes focusing hard on Daryl’s expression. He was trying to get a read on him. It was hard to believe he wasn’t in on it, but he looked completely lost the second Merle’s tone of voice changed.

“Get out of there.”

“What,” Daryl gasped.

“Get the fuck out of there.”

Both Daryl and Jesus’ eyes locked, and Daryl tried to run towards the exit, but Jesus quickly got in his way. Daryl grabbed him by the shoulders and attempted to shove him, though Jesus intercepted him. Shoving his palm against his face, throwing him against the tiled wall opposite them.

Surprised by Jesus’ strength, Daryl took a moment to recover before lunging towards him again. He had Jesus up against the wall, his forearm pushing on his throat. The smaller man just grinned, his eyes a piercing green, his pale skin flushing, his chest rising and falling.

“Good try,” he mouthed, so soft that Daryl barely could hear him. His heart thumped again.

And in that second Jesus twisted his arm so hard he fell to his knees, groaning in pain. “Ah fuck!”

Jesus moved closer, twisting it even further back, his knee now deep in Daryl’s spine, rendering him helpless. Daryl choked on his breath, he could feel Jesus softly chuckle behind him.

“I warned you,” he sang. It seemed like he was getting a little too much joy out of subduing him.

Daryl was grinding his teeth in submission, his eyes on his phone that was now on the floor, a large crack on the screen.

“Daryl? Daryl. Shit…I’m sorry. I thought that maybe? I didn’t know. I thought you could handle yourself. I’m so sorry,” Merle spoke, his voice trembling. “Oh fuck. I’m sorry. You’ll survive I know it. You made it easy through prison, huh, little bro? This is nothing. This is nothing.”

The phone went dead.

“Will you play nice,” Jesus said, his voice still calm and low.

Daryl felt himself overwhelmed with grief from this betrayal. He turned a deep red and started hitting his head against the floor.

“Hey, stop,” Jesus ordered.

Daryl didn’t, not until he felt plastic around his wrist. Jesus got his other arm, maneuvering Daryl like a doll, knowing all his pressure points so that he could restrain him with the zip tie in a more comfortable position.

“C’mon, don’t hurt yourself over him,” Jesus warmly said, Daryl could feel his voice vibrate through him, his body heat and weight still on his back. He shut his eyes, feeling something cool pushing against his skin. “That’s a gun, yeah.”

“Just fucking kill me,” Daryl mumbled.

“Not as long as you’re still useful to me. Now get up.”

“No,” Daryl spat.

He heard Jesus cock the gun, “Don’t _make_ me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Trust me. You don’t want to die. You fall off the horse, you climb again,” Jesus got up, grabbing at Daryl’s vest, pulling it upwards. With a little bit of effort Daryl got to his knees, his eyes burning straight into Jesus’.

But he was unfazed, maybe a little sad. At what? Who knows? Daryl didn’t know, and at that moment he didn’t care. “The second I’m free I’ll beat the living shit out of you.”

Jesus blinked quickly, pushing the gun up the fabric of Daryl’s shirt. He flashed that smile again, as he unlocked the door. “Why would you? We’re friends right?”


	5. Off the Hook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took forever to update. Well here I am. I got sick so I'm really far behind with writing this story. I'll get back on track and I'm guessing it won't be too long of a fic either. It'll probably stretch to 15 or so chapters at the most. Thank you so much for the support, this fic is so fun to write. I love not having to take myself so seriously and letting my imagination run wild. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy. Sorry for any typos or whatever. I get too excited and post whatever, I'll give it a reread later.

Mornings meant sunlight, waking up to a dull ache in his chest. Cold coffees, overpriced pastries.  Caffeine and sugar. Mornings meant driving a long road that went nowhere. Alex lived his days in a haze, Paul always on his mind.

Well Jesus, but he was always Paul to him.

Like a mindless zombie he went about his morning. Somehow he always found his way to Paul’s house, driving there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

This day wasn’t any different.

If there was something he wasn’t, was an idiot. Alex was perfectly aware that he was borderline obsessive but he felt like he was grasping onto something worth holding onto.

He looked onto the road, thinking of Wes’ lips on his. He traced his finger along his lower lip, thinking of Paul instead. Until then it had been one green light after another, then at that very moment he reached a red. Desperately he tried to pretend like it wasn’t a sign beckoning him to turn back. Instead he retreated to those good times.

The night he first met Paul was at a party. Blue Christmas lights were hanging from the ceiling although it wasn’t Christmas. It was a nice touch, a more low-key hipster sort of party. The place was filled with strangers, soft acoustic music playing on the speakers.

At the time his best friend was an unabashed extrovert, practically going out every night. Alex had to admit he was a bit of a shut in, his days of youth wearing down. She took pity on him and forced him along.

Paul was there standing off to the side. Just a second earlier he had seen him talking to a couple of people. His eyes bright and friendly. There was something about him, this charisma that he could flip on and off with a switch. One moment he could be the life of the party and the next he could completely disappear.

Alex was drawn to that. It didn’t take long for his friend to ditch him, so he spent the rest of the night wandering around the place, hoping to run across a dog or a cat to hang out with. Instead he ended up near a bird cage with a parrot who wasn’t looking at him too nicely.

From behind him he heard a voice.

“He doesn’t look friendly,” laughed the man.

“I think I saw some crackers somewhere. Maybe I can bribe him,” Alex said, turning around to see he was talking to Paul. His eyes widened. He licked his lips but Paul was so inviting that he didn’t stay awkward for too long.

“You know anyone here?”

“No. Well yeah, but I lost her. Did I look that pitiful?”

“No,” Paul laughed, tilted his head, his eyes practically glistening now. “I was just asking around to see if anyone knew you and no one did.”

Those eyes of his. He saw vast universes in those eyes. Hypnotic, all knowing, so warm that he felt right at home.

“Heh. Why were you asking,” Alex licked his lips, feeling drawn into his orbit.

“Why do you think,” Paul took a drink out of his glass, giving him a mischievous look.

Not long went by, by the time Paul had his pants off and Alex was kneeling. It felt only right. “What are we doing,” Alex laughed as he kissed down Paul’s pelvis, his nose rubbing up against his pubic hair. When he didn’t get a soon enough response, Alex stared up at Paul whose back was against the wall.

Running his hands through Alex’s then longer hair, Paul smiled with his eyes closed. “Lonely souls always seem to find each other.”

“So when you come because you will come, I guarantee it…”

“That’s always a good promise to make,” Paul now grinned even wider, his voice trailing off.

“Am I getting a number or—“Alex had spit on his hand, now lazily jerking Paul off. His eyes were searching his for an answer.

“Fff,” Paul said through clenched teeth, “You’re killing me,” he rolled his head back.

Alex blinked a couple of times, realizing he was already in front of Paul’s house. He looked around, seeing a guy walking out the front door, a skateboard in his hands.

Was the fight worth it?

The thoughts came and went, mapping out each scenario and each outcome. Of course Paul was worth it. More than worth it. Alex pulled out his phone and texted him.

\---------------------------

Right down the hall they were in was an exit, Jesus led Daryl that way. The door was a crack open, a piece of wood wedged in between. Jesus kicked it away, his car not parked too far.

“You got me. So what the hell are you going to do now,” Daryl muttered low under his breath as he was pushed into the back seat. The other man was being strangely gentle with him, at least for a person with a gun.

Jesus tilted his head sideways then shrugged. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“I already ate, just asking.”

When Jesus got into his front seat, he raised his brows, then let out a long sigh, clutching his steering wheel. He adjusted the rearview window only to see Daryl glaring at him from behind. If he could he’d burn a hole straight through him, but since this was reality and Daryl wasn’t some kind of mutant, Jesus didn’t take him so seriously.

“Were you gonna kill my brother?” questioned Daryl.

Jesus licked his lips, focusing on a mall security car driving by. “You’re alive right?”

“That don’t matter.”

“It doesn’t seem like Merle was too concerned with getting you in danger.”

Daryl bit on his lower lip hard, frowning before moving his head away to look out the window. “You don’t know that.”

“You wanted to know what I want with you right? You know how Merle thinks. The guy is too stupid not to repeat his own mistakes and I’m sure you were a witness to plenty of them.”

“Stop talking about him like that!”

Jesus paused. “So are you hungry or not?”

A couple minutes later Jesus was at a drive through, a cheery indie pop song blaring through his car speakers. Right as he was going to order Daryl started moaning through tape he had over his mouth. Jesus turned back and tapped the gun on the seat cushion.

“Hey you want to eat don’t you?”

Daryl narrowed his eyes, moving his mouth every which way in the hopes the tape would come off.

“How may I help you?” said the distorted voice coming from the speaker.

“Hi there. I’ll have a number 2, no onions, with only mustard,” Jesus answered, awful chipper.

“Want regular fries or seasoned?”

“Oh, regular fries.”

“And to drink?”

“A coke.”

“For fifty cents more I can super size it.”

“Yeah. Let’s live a little,” Jesus turned and smirked at Daryl, “Why not? Can you put some vanilla and cherry flavoring too? I want to surprise my guy with something new.” 

Daryl grunted loudly, Jesus shoved the gun barrel in his face. His expression scared Daryl, he finally accepted his position. There was no getting out of this at least not now.

Once Jesus got the food, he carelessly shoved a couple fries in his mouth, pulling out his phone from his messenger bag he had on the passenger seat. He thumbed through it, his eyes scanning a long text message.

“Oh Jesus,” he mumbled.

Daryl probably would have laughed at the absurdity of Jesus saying his own name in vain but this wasn’t really the time or the moment for laughter. He just stared on curiously as Jesus texted at a fast pace.

_It just wasn’t in the cards for us, Alex._

The phone buzzed again, Jesus’ eyes nearly bugging out of frustration.

_Look I’m right outside. We need to talk._

Jesus texted back. _Not now. I’m busy. I’m not even there._

Another buzz. _I can wait._

Jesus looked at the greasy bag of fast food, then back at Daryl who was laying at his side, watching him with the same glare as earlier.

“This guy can’t take a hint,” Jesus sighed out. Putting his phone in the drink holder. “Look at me. I’m a fucking drug dealer. I have a guy tied up in my back seat and I’m getting lovesick text messages from some dude. I don’t have time for this. With your brother already screwing me, and Gregory screwing me, and you, you’re looking at me like given the chance you’ll murder me, my life is anything but normal.”

Daryl looked confused, furrowing his brow. He grunted and Jesus looked at him with a tired look in his eye. He was curious what he had to say so he ripped the duct tape off.

“Ow. What the fuck,” Daryl cursed.

“You looked like you wanted to say something. Well say it.”

“Wait, you’re gay?”

“Really is that what you’re focusing on,” Jesus sighed, looking completely irritated. He grabbed the tape and pressed it over his mouth again, Daryl grunting in displeasure.

A few seconds passed and a thought hit Jesus’ head. He looked at Daryl, still contemplative before eventually ripping the tape off once more.

“Shit! You gotta stop doin that,” Daryl spat out.

Jesus put another fry in his mouth, then moved towards Daryl and put one in his. Instantaneously Daryl frowned, the situation was as surreal as ever. This Jesus guy was so god damned strange. He was seemingly unfazed by all of this going on, just feeding him fries like he was used to this sort of thing. Then again Daryl was hungry and he wasn’t going to let the warm, crispy fry go soggy in his mouth. He shifted so he could sit up and not choke on the thing at least. Discontented and confused, he chewed.

“See you’re looking better already,” Jesus blinked with a tired look in his eye, forcing a smile. “Since I’m giving you what you want—“

“I don’t want to be tied up.”

“Baby steps, c’mon.” He fed him another fry and that silenced him for a moment, giving Jesus a window of opportunity to continue. “I want to have a conversation.”

“Fine. I’m clearly not going anywhere.”

“Great, so—“ From his back pocket Jesus pulled out a wallet. Daryl studied its details for a moment, eventually realizing it was his.

“When you’d get that?”

“Snatched it from you during our tussle.”

“That’s about the second time that’s happened. God damnit.”

“Bad luck, huh?” Jesus looked through it, only finding three dollars, a really really old picture of a Rottweiler and his driver’s license. He pulled it out, his grin growing genuine. “Six feet, 170 pounds, and you were born in….oh…so that makes you…” He started counting on his fingers. “42.”

“Yeah,” Daryl seemed distracted, his eyes back on the bag of food, a grease stain spreading across the paper. Why did he forget to eat that day? And how the hell did Jesus seem to know that?

“You look good for 42. They say now and days the hump isn’t even at forty, it’s at fifty so take that as you will.”

“Just shut up already. Take me back to that parking lot. Let me get on my bike and I promise I won’t give you the beating you deserve.”

“Oh,” Jesus grew serious suddenly, it was pretty threatening how his face could just do that. “Problem is, I don’t like loose ends. We don’t have a whole lot of trust here and things have ways of repeating themselves. You’ll go to your brother, your brother will cause me a hell of a lot more problems and it’ll bite me in the ass. Honestly I’m a nice guy but first and foremost, my interests are more important than any act of kindness. And between us both, letting you go would serve nothing. From the start you’d always end up with me.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you stuck your nose in my business with your brother. I think you know just like I do that you were better off doing whatever you were doing before he came around. Did you have a shitty job? A girlfriend that annoyed the hell out of you? I’m sure you’re missing that now. I mean you had to have had a life before he came to Florida. He probably followed you here. He’s a roach like that.”

Daryl grew solemn, blinking before raising his gaze. Jesus already had a fry lingering near his mouth, Daryl leaned forward and ate it.

“He don’t deserve to die, though,” pled Daryl, his voice unusually soft. “I knew it could go this way, probably worse. And if I went, well—it was my time. Better me than him. But that’s family.”

For a split second, Jesus’ eyes grew soft, he fluttered his eyelashes, then looked away. He pulled the burger out, unsheathing it from half of the wrapper and bringing it to Daryl’s mouth. “Just eat.”

\-----------

“Does this taste weird? It tastes fucking weird.” Alex overheard this as he lingered in the kitchen. He turned to see Jesus’ friends hovering over a cake in a brownie pan that they were eating out of.

Happy Birthday Star was written in icing almost carelessly. Alex smiled, everyone eating looked stoned out of their mind.

“Who is Star?” He asked.

“Well,” one nice enough looking fellow smirked, “She’s the first one you say hello to at the door.”

“Oh,” Alex smiled. He looked over in her direction, “Hey Star, happy birthday.”

She turned away from the blinds, a fierce blush in her cheeks, “I heard it a billion times today and believe me, it hasn’t sunk in yet. Do I look thirty?”

“No. Oh no,” practically everyone said.

She smiled then looked back out the window, “Hey uh—was that black car always parked at that corner?”

Suddenly there was a loud thump at the door. Everyone turned with their mouths gaping in surprise.

“What the fuck,” she shouted as the back door flew open.

Jesus drove right by his house and everything was moving in slow motion. The bag of money flying everywhere, hundred dollar bills exploding out like confetti. One of his friends was running, three agents piling right on top of him, cuffing him. His eyes grew wide, larger than they had ever been. Daryl couldn’t see a thing, he was hunched down in the back seat, laying sideways with a paper bag over his head.

He could only hear the shouting.

Pulling down on his beanie, Jesus tried hide and seem natural meanwhile trying to see what was happening in his periphery. The place was surrounded, black cars with DEA written on the side of them. As soon as he saw Alex’s car, his heart sunk to the very ground. He reached a four way intersection, coming to a stop. He ground his teeth hard, his hands holding his face as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel. Turning around he could see the officers pulling out each person from the house and throwing them down face first into the grass in the front yard.

Every fiber of his being was pulling him back. He kept looking at the rearview window until he hit the gas, turning the corner and eventually parking at a playground, watching kids playing on the swings.

He could hear Daryl grunt behind him but Jesus couldn’t find the words to tell him to shut up. He started slamming his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes going wild.

He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t.

His mind was racing a mile a minute with so many thoughts. He couldn’t erase it from his mind, the idea that Alex was one of those people face down in the grass. Despite their strained relationship, he didn’t want anyone being hurt especially if he was innocent. At least his friends didn’t have spotless criminal backgrounds, meanwhile Alex had so much to lose.

“Okay, change of plans,” he said out loud, more to himself than to Daryl. He grabbed his phone and pulled out the SIM card. Stretching into the backseat, he stuck his hand in Daryl’s pocket. Daryl voiced out his displeasure, squirming, trying to move away from Jesus’ incessant touch. He pulled out rolled up gum wrappers, keys and then a lighter. “Bingo,” he said softly.

Jesus speaking just forced another grunt out of Daryl. Luckily he moved away from him, using the flame to melt the card in his cup holder. He blew on it, threw it out and then opened the driver’s door so he could position his phone behind the wheel of his car. He backed it up, certain it cracked, but to be safe, he drove over it again before leaving.

He heard Daryl sigh, his head moving against the bag of cat food Jesus had bought earlier.

It dawned on Jesus all of a sudden.

“My cat.”

Black, furry as all hell, a little on the hefty side, the greenest eyes in the whole universe. It had several names, all of which were mostly curse words but said out of endearment from Jesus and everyone else he shared his space with.

“God my cat.”

From Daryl’s point of view, he was completely lost, not that anyone could really blame him. He was being assaulted by all different types of stimulation that he wanted some peace and quiet.

The second they got to some place and he was dragged out with the bag still over his head, he was relieved even if he was tied to a radiator. He felt the bag pulled off his head, Jesus just a few inches away from him, crouching, his eyes looking more focused than ever. Pupils dilated, his lips were chapped, his expression tense.

Something had gone wrong.

Daryl mirrored his expression before frowning at the tightness around his wrists.

The tape came off of his lips, this time more carefully.

The place was empty and was probably an abandoned auto repair shop from what he could make of the garage and the oil stains. Jesus pat his cheek, noticing his head swaying a little.

“Alright there,” Jesus asked.

“This where you’re planning to keep me? Not all that humane.”

“It’s temporary.”

“Alright,” Daryl mumbled, stretching his neck.

“You’re being pretty compliant.”

“Cause I already planned how I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”

“You sure about that? It’s starting to look a lot like we’re more allies than anything else.”

“Things are going straight to hell, yeah?”

“Merle’s the missing piece. Any ideas coming to mind?”

“He bounced. You know about as much as I do. Should have killed me when you had the chance, now I’m another loose end. You said you hate those right?”

“Be useful for your own sake.”

“Something tells me when you’re put on the spot, you wouldn’t do it. You wouldn’t want to. You couldn’t live with yourself.”

“Don’t make me prove you wrong.”

The atmosphere grew tense. Daryl didn’t have an answer, he was reconsidering his words with the way Jesus was looking at him now. But ultimately anger overcame any other emotions, he stared him back just as boldly.

Jesus narrowed his eyes, the barrel of his gun now against Daryl’s cheek. His eyes followed along the bead of sweat the fell along his temple, giving him little time to react, Daryl head-butted him. Jesus fell back clutching his head, the world almost closing in on him. When he gained his focus the first thing he saw was Daryl’s smug, self-satisfied face. Instinctively he hit him back hard, so hard Daryl went unconscious.

For such a zen guy, Jesus was suddenly all nerves. He rubbed his head, then wiped the blood that dripped down his nose, “What a piece of shit,” he muttered to himself before leaving on foot. He pulled his hoodie over his head joining the shadows that spread through the growing darkness of the oncoming night.  


	6. Vanishing Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of stuff happens in this chapter. A LOT. Next one will be more of a breather and should be posted pretty soon. So whoo. Thanks for sticking around and for the comments and kudos and stuff. Watch out of any typos as usual I'll give it a once over when my mind is a lot clearer.

Hidden behind some trees Jesus staked out his home. He had a bandana covering his mouth, his hoody pulled over his head. No one could spot him, at least not now. It was late enough that the sun was gone from the sky.

The place died down. There was one cop car parked at the front, the lights now off except for the laptop that illuminated the interior. He could make out the shadow of a man was sitting in place, looking completely despondent. Probably a rookie they passed the tedious job to. As far as he knew nothing was going to happen and Jesus wanted it to stay that way.

In a steady pace Jesus walked along the edges of fences, sticking to the shadows, one silent footstep after another.

Finally he got close enough to his house to see the crawlspace he was planning to get in through. He took a deep breath, trying to not lose it and screw up. He ran as fast as he could, clenching his teeth, quietly panting, adrenaline taking over. Pulling out the screen, he tried to squirm inside, instantly regretting his new workout regimen building up his shoulders more. It was a tight fit but he was in and no one was coming behind him. He focused on a car driving down the street, there was a Dominos sign right on top of it.

His stomach unwillingly grumbled, Jesus let out a sigh and continued on until he found the panel of wood he could push up. Luckily no one had found this hiding place either. He remerged from the ground covered in dirt and cobwebs.

The room was pitch black except for the moonlight coming from underneath the door. He climbed out, his hand immediately reaching for the door knob. At the moment he was in the washroom, all he had to do was open that door and go to the kitchen, dig through the shelves and find his cat’s favorite freeze dried chicken treats. Just a couple shakes should do the job.

It sounded simple enough.

But he wasn’t ready for what he was about to see. All his shit was ransacked, not that it was surprising, maybe it was a false sense of idealism but he didn’t expect his biggest danger was being tripped by one of his friend’s novelty dildos. He hopped, nearly losing his footing. When he gained his sense of balance back, crouching, he made his way to the kitchen just as planned.

 After rummaging through a couple of shelves he noticed the bag of treats pushed to the furthest part of the shelf. He cursed to himself, climbing onto the counter. Haphazardly he tried swinging, the bag falling into his hands not before he knocked over a ceramic food dish, sending it crashing against the floor.

His life flashed before him at that very moment, his blood running cold. There was nothing for next couple of seconds, his hands sweating as he clutched at the bag of treats. This was stupid so stupid. He repeated to himself.

But so god damned necessary. He loved that cat.

Just as that moment passed through his mind he looked out the window, he could make out a black blob in his neighbor’s tree just meowing. A large smile spread through Jesus’ face.

His heart beat fast with relief until he saw a light on in the bathroom. From inside the room he could hear the hum of upbeat music. The toilet flushed, a cop emerging from behind the door, his eyes large as soon as he spotted him.

This cop was playing Dancing Queen, of all songs. _Who shits to ABBA?_

Time seemed to freeze as they stood within each other’s views.

_What the hell should he do?_

He could run but the cop was holding his walkie in his hand, ready to call for back up. Jesus certainly didn’t want that.

Alex immediately came to mind. Lost, confused, behind bars, probably being milked for info. That guilty feeling returned to him even stronger. He could repent, he could let himself be caught.

One moment led to another, the cop had his gun raised up and Jesus knocked it out of his hand. They struggled, throwing each other from one wall to another. When faced with having to make a decision, Jesus chose freedom. He’d do no good behind bars. Using the wall as leverage, he kicked off of it and took down the cop, his hands around his neck. He tried to slam Jesus against the wall but Jesus held on tight.

From one side to another he was swung, ultimately Jesus’ back being thrown against the kitchen island. He braced himself, one still around his neck and the other feeling for anything on the counter to take him out.

Jesus wanted no witnesses, so it was either his own life or this stranger’s. With the saran wrap that had been on top of Star’s birthday cake, he covered the man’s face.

Happy fucking birthday, oh shit. This was dark.

The man struggled, breathing in nothing but plastic. Jesus blinked rapidly, his lips tightly held together. In his arms he could feel the man’s body suddenly grow limp, the same god damned song still playing as he slunk into the ground.

Jesus stood over him, one second passing then the next. He didn’t stay for long. He grabbed the cat carrier he had in the living room then returned to the man’s unconscious form. He wasn’t about to check if he was alive or not, but he licked his lips and spoke into the walkie before making his exit.

“Officer down. I repeat officer down.” 

From his neighbor’s lawn he saw the officer that was outside run into the house. Jesus blinked, seemingly concerned for a guy who probably wouldn’t have hesitated ending his life. Shit happens, he guessed. In his arms he held his cat, lovingly he put it back into the carrier and once again stuck to the shadows.

\--------------

Just imagine a guy in a Budweiser commercial, sipping on his beer, chilling with some friends, his arm around a girl with an amazing ass.

 _Yes_. A man of simple needs

This man was reasonable of course, he had a fight or two in the past week or so but nothing too serious that he didn’t get out of with a couple scrapes and bruises. He had those boys on their knees pretty quick. But now wasn’t a time to think about that kind of bullshit.

The music played low with a buzz and a hum. He knocked back a bottle, slicked his jet black hair and rested against the booth, just watching with sunken, dreamy eyes as his date swayed to and fro to some song she had in her head that she couldn’t quite remember while standing near the jukebox.

She certainly was a cute little thing.

“Honey, make up your mind,” he said with a drawl, his words tripping one after another. He was a big guy, a tall guy, broad shoulders but even superheroes have their limits.

“Shut up. I need to take my time,” she smiled as she leaned over the glass. “Don’t you like the view?”

He blinked. In fact he did.

White washed high waist shorts that hugged her every curve, cupping those asscheeks like his hands would soon do in no time. Talk about the sweetest slice of cherry pie he had seen for the longest time.

“Honey, have a got one hell of a fucking tune for you,” he grinned devilishly, soaking in that sight. He braced himself with the seat cushions, putting his right hand over his heart. “Oh say can you see….by the dawn’s early light…”

They took their celebrations back to his place, a small apartment. Clothes were thrown here and there, he pulled his gun out from his holster and placed it on the kitchen island.

“Excuse the mess but hey it could be fucking worse. I could be mother fucking Buffalo Bill.”

She didn’t understand the reference but he laughed heartily anyway, she nervously chuckled as she looked at the back of one of his cds. It was a rewritable one, carelessly written on it in pink marker were the words Pussy Eating Tunes. She smirked, then turned towards him.

“The bedroom,” she said in a low voice, pointing down the hall.

His cellphone was ringing off the hook, vibrating so hard it was close to falling off the nightstand. They kicked off the comforter, rolling around, messy kissing, grinding.

“Look…uh…before we…uh…I gotta say…” she was on top of him, her hands on his chest, her hair cascading long silk waves.

“I have rubbers, I wrap up my shit. No worries, man,” he reassured her with a grin. “And I think it’s about time we go down town.”

Her eyes grew wide as his hand moved down her stomach.  “Hold on,” she lowered her head, “I’m so stupid. I liked you and I went ahead with it.”

“You don’t want to?” Again the Guns n’ Roses song started playing. “Sons of fucking bitches,” he cursed, grabbing the phone and turning it off. “I’m sorry, honey. You were saying.”

She raised her eyebrows sitting back, “Yeah I want it.”

“Well fuck yeah. What’s stopping you?”

“Well…”

“That amazing tuck job you got goin’?”

“Huh. What,” her face turned a fierce red.

“It’s new yeah but you’re hot as all fuck so why not? It’s fucking impossible not to feel that hard-on on mine. And I’m reassessing a shit ton of things right now, but there’s nothing bout my chemistry that’s making my rock hard boner soft. So…”

“Oh fuck,” they melted into one another yet again, rolling around the bed until the home phone started ringing.

After groaning and cursing, he pulled apart from her and whatever stairway to heaven they were ascending. Reality was crushing down on him, he knew eventually he had to answer the call. He knew it was important.

“I’m sorry, I’ll take care of this fucker of a situation and we’ll continue.”

“Thank fucking god, what the hell,” said the voice at the other end of the line.

“This is my night off. Do you know what those two words mean when they’re side by side? Night…off… We made progress. We made a fucking bust. We made a shit ton of arrests. So what now? You got god damned hey-sus on a motherfucking platter, Dwight?”

“No, sir.”

“Don’t sir me. I’m fucking Negan, you stupid fuck.”

“Just come to headquarters. It’s important.”

“Fuck. Fuck you. Fine,” his voice faded into a defeated whisper. He sat up at the edge of his bed, pulling his black t shirt back on. “We’re going to have to cut this night short. Need a ride home?”

She nodded, brushing her hair to the side. “Yeah that’s fine. You have my number.”

“And you’ll get that dick pic tonight.”

When they were dressed they lingered near the garage, Negan smirking the largest shit eating grin ever. “I got a wicked ride, hun.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah.” He flipped the light switch illuminating the room. She crossed her arms, laughing to herself as he threw the garage door open.

“That is bad ass.”

“Sure as fuck is. Swiped it from a real piece of shit.” He climbed onto the motorcycle and she got on behind him. A thought was stuck in his head, he tilted his neck back, chuckling, “Daryl Dixon. Sounds like a name straight out of a 70s skin flick. Hmm. The guy’s got good taste, I’ll give him that.”

With a loud rumble he turned on the motorcycle and drove off.

\---------------

The sun was just beginning to rise the moment Daryl came to. He jolted awake forgetting just where he was. It came back to him at once despite wishing it was just some sick dream of his. Despite it being useless he pulled at his restraints, positioning himself so his arms were stretched out in front of him and his legs pushing on the radiator. Still nothing.

Effort after useless effort Daryl tried to catch his breath. He was panicking by then, his heart racing. He knew there was a chance Jesus wouldn’t come back from wherever he’d gone. There were so many different endings to this story and Daryl didn’t like any of them. He wasn’t about to squander the only chance he had to escape, he was growing desperate, he started slamming his hand but Jesus didn’t give him enough space to break his thumb if he wanted to.

“Oh shit,” Daryl moaned, curling inwards into the radiator, resting his head on the cool surface hoping for an idea to come to him.  There was only one thing instinctively left to do.

He started biting on the plastic. Gnawing at it for so long, he started taking small breaks once his gums would to bleed. His teeth were probably going crooked after a while of doing it but at that point he didn’t give the slightest shit to the pain and discomfort he was feeling. He needed to get out.

He kept his eyes on the garage door dreading whatever could get in. The sunlight was getting brighter, coming in through the dusty windows and that was when he felt the sudden decrease in pressure around his wrists. In complete surprise he saw his plan work, however tedious it was. His wrists were free, red rings where the restraints used to be. He rubbed them and moaned, struggling to get to his feet, his head woozy from Jesus’ strangely strong punch.

 _What a fucking bastard_ , Daryl mused, his hand sliding against the wall, bracing himself as he lifted the garage door.

It must have been six or seven in the morning. Jesus hadn’t shown up but there was his car in all its ugly glory. There was this ache in his chest that had stuck to him since the second he last heard Merle talk. Just as Merle taught him, he broke into the car, hotwired it, Merle’s voice coaching him through it until it finally turned on. Daryl fell back into the leather mats, his eyes staring up at nothing in particular but they stung so much, he covered them with his forearm, the rest of his body hanging out of the car.

Maybe he shouldn’t have followed in his brother’s shadow. It seemed like dumb luck he’d end up toying with a car at an abandoned auto repair shop.

Suddenly it dawned on him getting the car to turn on was the easiest part. He didn’t have the faintest idea where to go. Something in the pocket left untouched by Jesus called to him. Pulling out the piece of paper he saw Carol’s number. This woman though, there was an instant draw he felt towards her. An unexplainable sort of thing, a warmth, almost like lost family.

He shook away that thought. It was ridiculous, she was a stranger he smoked a cigarette with. But any idea was better than nothing. For a while he made the rounds, driving by the IHOP that was near his job. At the gas station was a phone booth, there were hardly any of those anymore so it stayed stuck in his mind. He pushed in the numbers, his eyes wandering to the cashier who was looking right back at him. He felt a hitch in his breath. The way he was staring at him was unusual.

Carol answered, her voice tired. _Right._ It was still early in the morning.

“Hello. Who is this?”

“It’s…” It felt even crazier now. For whatever reason she gave him her number and he was still in a complete loss as to why. But he was almost certain this wasn’t the reason. “It’s Daryl. Y’know…from the anger management class.”

“Daryl. Yeah. I know you. Why are you uh—“

“It ain’t easy for me to say…b-but….I need your help.”

“Okay. What’s going on?”

“I got into some trouble…it’s my brother…”

It was hard to find Carol’s place, she wasn’t that far from him, he heard of the street but he wasn’t in the best of conditions to think. He had his eye on the streets when he caught sight of a black BMW following him around. It was suspicious from the start. Eventually he started making turns on purpose, going in circles until he was cut off.

Unexpectedly, there was Jesus in his crosshairs on a pink bike of all things, in the basket was a carrier or something. Daryl couldn’t focus on that though because Jesus’ eyes nearly bugged out as big as his own.

“Oh fuck! That tiny shit,” Daryl cursed, doing a U-turn. At top speed Jesus tried to catch up. And this chase went on for some time.

“You piece of shit,” Jesus panted in between breaths. “Where you going, huh?” He was biking alongside him screaming at the open window

“Hey fuck you,” spat Daryl.

“N-no FUCK YOU!” It was hard to come with a clever retort when he was running on fumes. Instead they sounded like dribbling idiots having a lover’s quarrel. Jesus by then was a dark red. The bike clearly wasn’t built for this kind of thing. It was wobbling side to side, Jesus nearly falling off from time to time.

“You idiot, you’re going to get yourself killed!” screamed Daryl, startled by his persistence.

“Huh,” Jesus’s eyes grew wide, the stoplight turned red. He skidded to a stop but Daryl didn’t. Daryl zoomed by traffic nearly colliding against him. “Oh christ,” Jesus’ gasped, covering his mouth in shock. Just barely Daryl made it by.

 _Damnit._ He knew this light. He knew it’d take forever before he could cross the street again. He slammed his hand against the post, cringing at the pain he inflicted on himself. 

By the time Daryl crossed the light, he struggled to catch his breath looking behind him at Jesus disappearing in the wake of traffic. He breathed out a sigh of relief, and with his eyes focused on the rearview window he caught sight of a chip in his tooth from biting the zip tie.

“Aw shit,” he grumbled, thumbing the space and cringing. He hated visiting the dentist.

After being distracted, he looked back onto the road startled by people who were crossing the street. He realized he was back at IHOP. It was Beth crossing. She froze, her eyes saucer wide.

“Daryl?” he swore he saw her mouth.

Immediately Daryl steered away from her, not paying attention to what exactly he was about to drive into instead. He crashed through a convenience store, shielding his face from all the shit he was hitting. He slammed on the brakes a little too late causing him to drive nearly halfway through the place. Luckily people jumped out of the way, so there was some blessing to take away from this shitstorm of a situation.

He hit his face on the wheel once he came to his stop, his nose dribbling blood, his chipped tooth now knocked out. After nearly blacking out for a split second, he came to, focusing on the sweetest thing he could see in a moment like this. An exit sign. He fell out of the car clutching at his chest and started shuffling toward the door.

Crowds of people were gathering at the store giving Daryl enough leeway to escape without being found.

Beth ran towards the store, her heart stopping cold, Maggie wasn’t far behind her.

“Shit I didn’t even see the car coming towards us. I was on the stupid phone,” Maggie said, Beth not paying attention.

The blonde was shoving people out of the way just to see if Daryl was okay. She saw the wreckage, he slammed into a shelf full of bottles of red wine. Glass was everywhere, the floors now red. The cashier was warning everyone to be careful. She stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth falling open.

He was nowhere to be found and she knew perfectly well seeing him driving wasn’t all in her head. She got out to find Maggie was still outside, now talking to someone else.

“Daddy. Daddy oh my god. We almost died. Yeah. I know. Yeah. I love you too. Beth is fine, she’s just as freaked out as I am.”

Something zoomed past them. It was a man on a bike and Beth recognized him immediately. She chased him about as far as she could, seeing him turn a corner down the alley behind the store.

Curiosity nagged at her. If there was something she knew for sure at first glance, was that these two idiots were trouble.

Daryl hid behind a dumpster knowing that Jesus would catch up to him eventually. He was relieved as soon as he saw him pass. When the coast was clear he trudged on, looking at a paper with smudged writing, giving him directions to the trailer park where Carol lived.

The trailer park was a real shithole. Kids crying, people smoking meth out in the open, it felt like a place he had never quite left. He counted the house numbers eventually coming across the one that belonged to Carol. Hers was one of the bigger ones, it looked a hell of a lot nicer. And outside she stood smoking a cigarette on a swinging bench.

She waved at him with a friendly smile. Daryl limped towards her.

“You look like shit,” she grinned. “When you said trouble I didn’t entirely believe you. But now that I see you—“

Daryl grunted and shrugged.

Her gaze suddenly went off focus, she was looking at him but not quite. From behind the bench she pulled out a gun, Daryl immediately crouched raising his hands.

“Fuck woman,” he cursed and shut his eyes. “I’ve had enough with guns!” He heard the shot but it didn’t hit him. Reluctantly he opened his eyes again, hearing something not far behind.

“You shot me,” Jesus’ voice trembled. He’d fallen off his bike, and was laying on his back in surprise. Daryl crawled over to him, his eyes wide.

For whatever reason, he was relieved to see it was a tranquilizer dart in his shoulder and not a bullet.

“I sure as hell shot you,” Carol walked towards him, looking at him smugly.

In complete bewilderment Jesus’ eyes remained large, blinking slower and slower until his eyes stayed closed.

“Why the hell did you do that,” Daryl stammered. Carol looked at him confused.

“The guy was chasing you.”

“Yeah but—“

“Yeah what,” she crookedly smiled, putting her gun to the side. She dragged Jesus by his legs underneath the tarp that provided some shade and started digging through his pockets. Daryl was dumbfounded, it took him a while to zone in on reality. He got up off the ground and walked to the bike, what looked like a pet carrier had fallen off the basket.

“Shit. The prick has a cat. There’s a god damned cat in there,” Daryl pointed, excitedly.

Carol cocked an eyebrow.

“Well shit, Daryl. Don’t leave it out in the sun, bring it over here.”

The inside of trailer was well lived in and dark, blankets hanging over the windows. Daryl took a cigarette she generously handed to him after they tied up and dragged Jesus to the bedroom.

“Hmm,” Daryl said after giving the place a look over.

“What,” Carol asked.

“You said you have a daughter.”

“I do. She just isn’t here.”

He couldn’t even spot pictures of her. He walked around giving the place a once-over, lingering at the threshold where Jesus lay on the bed. There was noise coming from the kitchen, with a cigarette hanging loosely from her lips Carol was pulling out gallon of milk.

“Hey want cookies?”

Daryl shrugged, eventually sitting at the kitchen table. “The tranquilizer? It ain’t too strong?”

“Worried about the guy,” she raised her brow, pouring him a glass of milk.

“Naw,” he flinched, shaking the ashes of his cigarette into a Minnie Mouse glass with a thick layer of ash in it already. “I don’t want him to wake up for a while. I just crashed a car cause of this asshole.”

“That explains it then. I didn’t think he could do that much damage with his hands alone,” Carol chuckled.

“Shit. You’d be surprised with that little bastard. I mean obviously I would win in a fight but—“

“Looks like you didn’t,” she smirked. “It’s okay. It’s between you and me.”

This entire situation screamed all sorts of wrong. Daryl felt a little queasy after drinking his milk.

“Your friend is pretty famous. He’s a cop killer you know? They’re talking about him on the news.”

Daryl blinked quickly, “What?”

“He’s wanted and they have a bounty on him, you know that?”

“Oh. If it’s money you think I want, I don’t. You take all the credit then,” He took a bite out of the cookie, a little surprised Jesus was a guy capable of doing that. It probably shouldn’t have been all that surprising, he was dangerous, just _different_. If Carol was willing to take him off his hands, maybe it was for the best and there’d be some hope things would return to normal.

“Thank you. You’re so selfless. I can use that money for me and my little girl.”

“What’s her name?”

“Sophia,” Carol’s eyes grew soft, “She’s why I do everything. In my line of work it’s important that I’m really good with remembering faces. With yours especially.”

He raised his head, cookie crumbs in his scruff. Nervously he wiped them off, thinking maybe this was why she was talking so strangely. He feigned a smile but her expression didn’t change.

“Dad always said I had an ugly mug people seem to remember,” Daryl laughed.

“No not ugly,” shrugged Carol, “I’m a bounty hunter in case you can’t connect the dots.”

“Oh,” Daryl looked around again, suddenly it made sense.

“And the word that’s going around is you’re a—“ she leaned in closer and lowered her voice, “an accomplice. And honestly I’ve always been the type of person who liked to collect both bookends instead of just one. You know…symmetry.”

“Hey I didn’t do shit.”

“I don’t care. The reward means more that what’s right and what’s wrong. I’m at the top of the food chain and you’re just doomed to always be on the wrong end of the gun.”

Daryl groaned and rolled his eyes. “Ya serious?”

“Yeah real serious. This one has real bullets and everything!” She grinned wildly, pointing her pistol at him. “Now go to the back room with your bookend.”


	7. A Quiet Day In

The thing about bathrooms in trailers that Daryl hated the most was how small they were. They were practically a closet to shit and piss in. The showers were barely usable. He could always remember bumping knees and elbows against the wall, banging his forehead against the shower head. Honestly it was so god damned claustrophobic.

At the moment he was under the sink, all sorts of ungodly things growing underneath there. Besides him was Jesus, still unconscious. If anything Daryl envied him. His form was pressed against his, and not long ago his head had rolled onto his shoulder.

Daryl couldn’t move. Sometimes he found himself watching his face, hoping for a flicker of life. Underneath his lids sometimes his eyes would move around but still nothing. The prick was probably dreaming of drinking a god damned mocha latte or some shit like that.

In the next room he could hear something. He was unsure if she was going to bring them to the feds or if she was going to call them to pick them up. He was ready for anything.

A bang here, a bang there, something huge was now being dragged. It was more than enough for Daryl to try to wake up Jesus, but by the time he turned to look at him he saw his eyes were always wide open, his whites dark red and his pupils a deep panicked blue. Immediately Daryl moved away from him, but since there wasn’t much room to move, Jesus’ head fell onto his lap.

“Get off me you shit,” Daryl hissed, trying to kick him away.

“Shut up,” Jesus mumbled getting up on his knees. “Where am I?”

“In a bathroom, where else,” frowned Daryl.

“I know that,” Jesus grimaced then rolled his eyes. “Why the hell are you tied up, I thought you were in cahoots.”

“Afraid not,” Daryl said deadpan. “She says me and you are in it together.”

There was a short silence, Jesus wiping the sweat off his face with the sleeves of his hoodie. “Well, we might as well be.”

“No we sure as hell ain’t!”

“You want to be out of here just as bad as I do, right?”

Daryl stayed quiet, biting on his lower lip. “You kidnapped me, threatened me.”

“We don’t need to go down that road right now. I get it. We hate each other, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Daryl was completely frazzled, trying to move as far as he could from him, his face flushing.

Jesus looked curiously at him, then shook his head, “Look, at least we agree on something. That’s a start.”

“That ain’t shit. I don’t trust you.”

“Okay. What’ll it take then,” he blinked, his expressive eyes searching deep within him.

“Nothing. It ain’t happening.”

“I can get us out, no big deal,” Jesus nodded enthusiastically, a smile on his lips, “I need you on my side. We’re already there but I need your word. It’s so easy.”

“You tried to kill Merle.”

“I had the gun for self-defense.”

“Self-defense, my ass. I see what your hands can do. Guns do the job without getting your hands dirty, am I right? You were going to leave him to rot. I know you aren’t afraid to pull that trigger. She told me your face was on the news, you’re a cop killer.”

“Oh,” Jesus lowered his head, cringing, “He died? I tried not to—I mean I did. I even called backup. I mean…I had to get out of there and he wasn’t letting me.” He was talking through his thoughts like Daryl wasn’t even there.

Daryl was disgusted and confused all at once. He could never get a good enough read on the man, “Get yourself together, man.”

“I am together. But if I’m out there, face and all. That means Alex fessed up. That’s my mistake, I knew.”

“The ex-boyfriend?”

“Whatever, I guess the cat’s out of the bag. Oh shit! My cat!”

“Oh,” Daryl nodded side to side, “The cat’s probably okay.”

“How do you know that?”

“Carol’s a nice enough person.”

“Really,” Jesus raised his brows, “She doesn’t seem too nice.”

“Yeah…well, it’s for her kid and all. This being tied up bullshit is getting repetitive but at least she’s got a legit reason…”

“I don’t give a flying rat’s ass,” Jesus said, with an intensity in his eyes.

“You said you can get us out. Get us out.”

“I need your word. I’m not going to do that unless you back me up. I can’t very well help you escape then have you shoot me in the back.”

“Damnit. I won’t.”

“See that trust thing, it’s got to go both ways,” Jesus licked his lips soft and slow. Daryl felt a bit fuzzy whenever he looked at them articulating words, the man working his magic on him. “There’s got to be a little give and take.”

“What do you need from me then?”

“Tell me how you ended up here.”

“She held me at gunpoint.”

“No I mean further back.”

“How much further can I go? I woke up in the morning and thought hey I hope my life doesn’t get more fucked up than it already is.”

“Don’t mess with me. I mean the very start.”

“You mean my life story,” Daryl scoffed, the corner of his eye twitching, “Nah.” He dropped his head. “Nobody needs to hear that.”

At this point Jesus knew it was bad, he was looking at him through sympathetic eyes. “There’s a good guy somewhere past that hard ass exterior, huh? You weren’t always like this.”

“I wasn’t a loveable kid if that’s what you were asking.”

“What,” Jesus smiled warmly, “Every kid deserves to be loved.”

“That’s hippie bullshit and you know it,” Daryl grumbled. “I was a shit. Always getting lost. Always causing trouble. Daddy hated me, Mommy avoided me. My brother stuck around…only when he wanted to.”

“That’s sad.”

“It ain’t.”

“It is,” Jesus said firmly, the both of them talking low. “Psychologists always say for your life to go bad, you need a bad start. There’s supposed to be a reason why it went wrong. Not for me. I came from a house full of love and acceptance. The problem came from inside me.”

“Didn’t think I’d hear you say that.”

“Why?”

Daryl shrugged, his eyes briefly locking with Jesus’ before looking away, “Cause you’re always talking like you’re the shit.”

“I can still be confident and own up to my mistakes. I’ve made them. A lot of them. But you. You’re so raw, you’re all impulse. I’m sure you confuse even yourself.”

“Shut up. You don’t know shit about me.”

“There’s that wall. You’ve built yourself quite the fortress,” Jesus smiled, overlooking Daryl’s incensed expression, adoring that touch of vulnerability in those narrow icy blue eyes. “There’s a lot to be admired about you. You’re a survivor. I can see that. There’s no shame in it.”

Daryl’s eyes grew softer for a split second before he realized that Jesus was probably working him. It was almost a little stupid how easy he was falling for it.  He swallowed, sitting up, his head resting against the soap scummy tile. “We done?”

“We’re victims to our circumstances, yeah? There’s no other way we can really benefit if we don’t support one another. I can give you more answers when the time comes. So I’m going to ask again. Do I have your word you won’t shoot me in my back?”

Their eyes locked, Daryl could nearly feel his mouth go dry. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

“Alright then,” Jesus had his hand on Daryl’s.

In complete and utter surprise, he realized Jesus’ hands were no longer bound. By the time he could react, Jesus was already working on the tape around his ankles. 

“What in the fuck,” Daryl had a boyish disbelief in his eyes, trying to figure out how the hell Jesus got out of his restraints so quickly.

“Duct tape, rope, even zip ties don’t do shit to me,” Jesus said with smug confidence, giving Daryl a little shrug and side eye, shamelessly loving the attention.

“Are you a 007 or some shit?”

“007 is a guy. And no, I’m not a spy,” smirked the younger man, shaking the tape off his hand.

“Hey you know what I mean.”

“Whatever,” Jesus muttered, he pulled off his shoe, grabbing a small knife out of compartment he had sewn into it. “You next?”

Daryl nodded, offering him his wrists. Jesus moved in closer to him, leaning onto his lap as he cut into the tape. “So what’s the plan,” Daryl broke the silence.

“The plan is a simple, very very stupid one. I blame the concussion,” smirked Jesus, “We make noise to lure her in and then you let me do what I do best.”

“You’re not gonna kill her?”

Jesus stopped cutting and raised his gaze to his, “I won’t.” He said with certainty, he continued cutting and then stopped midway. “I hope you don’t think I’m that kind of man. Well I can be, but only out of necessity. I don’t get my kicks that way.”

Daryl chuckled, “Yeah. How do you get your kicks?”

“Staying in,” Jesus said wearily, “Reading a book, listening to some Lou Reed.” He sat back after he finished unbinding Daryl. “Eating a slice of pizza. A real greasy slice of pizza.” He gave Daryl’s wrists a look, rubbing his hand over the red rings of sore, sensitive skin. “Look I’m sorry.”

“It ain’t anything,” Daryl said softly, his heart thumping hard in his chest, finding himself believing Jesus’ words all over again.

“I punched you in the face.”

“After I headbutted you.”

“Okay, so I guess we’ve both done things we wish we could take back”

“I don’t take it back, you deserved it.”

“Fine you did too,” laughed Jesus.

“Shit…I could do with a cig right now,” Daryl cringed, wiping his face off on his shirt.

“So you still think I’m a prick?” Jesus handed Daryl the knife. Daryl took it like a wild animal, immediately cutting the tape around his ankles.

“Yeah. The worst kind.”

“Hmm. I guess I can’t win everything. So you ready?”

“At the count of three.”

“Like on three or after we count three.”

“What the hell kind of question is that,” Daryl snapped.

“Well I say 1…2…3...”

Interrupting him a bullet went through the wall and into the mirror, shattering glass everywhere. Both of their jaws dropped. Then a whole slew of bullets started pummeling the room.

“Stay down,” Jesus shoved Daryl to the floor, his body weight on top of his. “They need to reload at some point,” he shouted into his ear.

Daryl nodded.

And sure enough he was right. “We got to get that door open. I think it’s coming from outside the trailer,” said Daryl.

Jesus crouched and put his hand on the door handle, jiggling it. It was locked. Obviously she was prepared for the type of thing. “Hold on,” Jesus got himself into position so he was still on the floor but still able to kick the door knob off. One kick, two, then it flew off. Jesus fumbled with the lock through the opening and heard the satisfying click he was waiting for.

He heard someone loading a gun. When he had the door open a crack he saw Carol setting up a sniper rifle on her bed, taking shelter behind it. She pulled back the hammer and started shooting. From outside he heard one man groan then another. Shit, she was good. Jesus felt Daryl’s warm breath on his neck, he was looking out the door behind him. He moved a little to look straight at him. “What do you think,” he said softly.

“We need to get the fuck out.”

“Well no shit,” Jesus said frankly. “It looks like she has it taken care of.”

“I can hear you two,” Carol turned towards them. Out of a chest she pulled out two guns and slid them over to them. “You pussies know how to shoot right?”

“Yeah I shoot,” Jesus answered grabbing the gun and crouching towards the nearest window. He used his gun to break it, he stuck it out and started shooting. The men started shooting again, Jesus lowered his head, taking shelter. Daryl was in shock, his gun still at his knees.

“Any idea who I’m shooting,” Jesus asked Carol.

“Don’t know. I saw black cars parking around the place. I dragged my guns and shit over here, waited a bit and sure enough these assholes started shooting.”

In one of the other rooms, glass shattered. They were inside. Daryl looked at Jesus and then at Carol, both of them being brave, he decided to step up to the plate himself. He grabbed his gun, his back against the wall near the door. Through the mirror of Carol’s vanity he saw a man climbing in through the front window, grabbing the blanket and tearing it off. He was of medium build, nothing Daryl couldn’t handle. In his hand he had a machete, ready to strike Carol. Just as he was about to Daryl blocked him, struggling within full view of the men who were shooting at Carol and Jesus.

Looking carefully out the window, Jesus saw one of the guys that was taking shelter behind his open car door raising up again and he turned screaming at Daryl. “Get down!”

Daryl grabbed the guy, using him as a shield. Bullets collided against the man, one fatally in-between his eyes. Blood splattered everywhere before he dropped to the ground.

Immediately Daryl made his way to the living room, noticing Carol had set up certain points to take cover.

“They’re on the move,” Carol shouted as soon as she missed one of the men who was on the run.

 “We’re surrounded,” Jesus shouted to Daryl, joining him.

“Looks that way.” Their shadows passed by the blankets over the windows, Daryl shooting into them.

Jesus crawled to one of the windows, moving the blanket just enough to see outside. He leaned against the wall, looking back at Daryl. “You got one. I think know these guys.”

“Why don’t that surprise me?”

“They’re Gregory’s men. Shit I went to this dude’s kid’s birthday party,” Jesus said pointing to the dead man in the middle of the living room.

“You’re serious,” Daryl said, watching a shadow move to the front door, then bolt back.

“No I’m fucking with you. I hated all those guys.” Jesus looked out the blanket, ripping it off then shooting the last of his bullets. He returned to the floor, reloading expecting a counterattack, but nothing. Instead he heard car doors closing, an engine starting.  One car were leaving, the other three were full of holes, dead men on the ground or hanging out of the open doors.

Carol emerged from the back with her rifle in tow.

“Fuckers think they can just come and go. Watch and learn boys,” she grinned and positioned the firearm, looking through the scope and shooting one fatal bullet into the gas tank. The car exploded. Jesus and Daryl looked on in shock, falling backwards. The smell of smoke and gasoline filling the air.

“You’re nuts,” Jesus looked out from over the couch, the largest grin on his lips ever. He looked on into the wreckage, Daryl was getting up behind him, rubbing the back of his head in confusion.

“Well shit,” Daryl grumbled.

“We’re not alone,” Carol pointed at a guy in the room with them. His hands were trembling.

“I can take care of it,” Daryl stomped towards him, smashing him in the face with the butt of his gun.

“Well I wanted to ask him for info, but that’s one way of handling it,” Jesus said flatly.

“I think it’s about time you boys better leave,” Carol said to Jesus, handing him his messenger bag that was around her shoulder. “Just as you left it. I don’t tinker with other people’s toys.”

“Hey thanks,” Jesus cocked his eyebrow. Daryl frowned.

“I don’t want this,” Daryl handed her his gun, “You got something better or am I stuck with your handouts?”

“I didn’t say that,” she sighed. “Get whatever you want out of the chest.”

“Why are you letting us go,” Jesus said skeptically, crossing his arms.

“You’re more trouble than what it’s worth. Look at what this got me. It got me shit,” she turned and looked in the direction Daryl disappeared to. “And for whatever reason I have a soft spot for that man.”

“Oh,” Jesus looked at Daryl emerging triumphant with the weapon of his picking. A crossbow.

“Don’t worry it’s not like that,” she nudged him. “I heard some of your conversation.”

“And,” suddenly Jesus was defensive.

“Nothing,” she pursed her lips, the corner curving into smirk, “I said nothing.”

“Hey uh,” Daryl lowered head, getting bashful, “Thanks.”

“Mexico,” said Carol.

“What,” asked Daryl.

“Go to Mexico,” she crossed her arms. “I’ll meet you there.”

Jesus and Daryl accepted the ambiguity, leaving without a single word. Jesus grabbed the carrier looking inside to see his cat was still okay. Pissed the fuck off, but okay. In the distance they could hear the sirens, Daryl looked at Jesus briefly holding the carrier and smiled. They were dirty, sweaty, bloody, and their faces covered with soot.

“So the cat’s coming with us?”

“Yeah. We have one more place to go.”

“We? I ain’t your prisoner anymore.”

“C’mon.”

“Tell your cat to shut up.”

“You know it doesn’t work that way. Anyway you’re hurt. You shouldn’t be headed anywhere alone,” Jesus jogged to catch up to Daryl, standing right in front of him cutting him off. He calmly placed his hand in front of him in an attempt to stall.

“Get out of my face.”

“With me at least you’ll have some sense of direction. Some place to stay.”

Daryl contemplated for a while. There wasn’t much time to make a decision. “Where are you headed, then?”

“Hotwire a car and I’ll tell you.”

Back at Carol’s place she quickly packed her things together into her duffel bag. She went outside, stepping over any dead men in the way and unlocked the door to her car. Throwing her bag into the backseat she heard someone pull back the hammer, a gun pointed at her head.

“Don’t do this,” she said coldly, her body going stiff.

“I don’t need a woman telling me what to do. Get me that bag and we can talk.”

Swiftly she turned, driving a knife into the man’s shoulder. She twisted it as he winced in pain, then kicked him, throwing him off the blade. He fell to the ground clutching at his wound, squirming in agony.

“Told you so,” she grinned as she turned on her car.

“Where’s my brother! Where’s my brother!” She didn’t respond, she pulled out of the driveway and sped off.  “Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” Merle struggled to get up, blood spilling all over the concrete ground. The sirens were getting closer. At his feet he saw a child looking at him curiously.

“Hey sir, you dying,” he asked, scratching at a mosquito bite on his arm.

“No kid! No I sure as hell ain’t dying,” Merle screamed at the top of his lungs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading folks! looks like Daryl and Jesus are going to have to work together after all. ;)


End file.
